


We March As One

by broodywolf, Emma_Trevelyan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alistair/Female Cousland - Freeform, Canon Divergent, F/F, F/M, Fenris/Female Hawke - Freeform, Iron Bull/Male Trevelyan - Freeform, M/M, Nonwarden cousland, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance, Slow Burn, Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris - Freeform, non-inquisitor trevelyan - Freeform, retelling of canon events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 42
Words: 222,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broodywolf/pseuds/broodywolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Trevelyan/pseuds/Emma_Trevelyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander Trevelyan finds himself thrust into the middle of the new Inquisition after he is the sole survivor of the Divine's Conclave. One by one, members of his family he'd feared were lost when the Circles fell find their way to the Inquisition. While they may not have the same ideas for how to save the world, one thing is for certain; they must learn to march as one.</p><p>TEMPORARY HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander Trevelyan: the Herald of Andraste. Fabled hero, or dreaded heretic and lunatic and probably many other dreadful words that ended in ‘tic’ he was sure; either way, he was no longer human. At least, not to the people of Thedas—he could see it in the way people looked at him. The people in Val Royeaux had gazed upon him with a mixture of gobsmacked awe and petrified horror. The Sister had looked at him with disgust, and the Lord Seeker had regarded him with the same look he might give a smear of dog shit on the bottom of his boot. Fiona had scrutinized him in a way that made him feel bare to his core. 

But really, he was just a man. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he uttered the phrase: “I don’t claim to be holy. I’m just a person.” Sure, he was a person with the power to seal rifts—a power that felt like his very essence (Andraste take him, his very _soul,_ if that made sense) was being sucked into the Void one exhausting battle after another. But he was just a man. And it didn’t matter. The trip back from Val Royeaux had been… taxing, though the allies he’d managed to acquire were a breath of fresh air. Sera was a delightfully quirky (if that was even _close_ to the right word) elf who brought enough resources to justify her particular brand of batty. Lady Vivienne’s salon had been a refreshingly familiar setting, and watching the marquis figuratively stripped before him had been a cathartic experience he would savor for months. 

Now, though… now he was back in Haven. Serious business had to resume. As much as he wanted a hot bath and a good meal (or as close to a good meal as one got in the ass-crack of Thedas), there was much to be done. 

_Come now, Xander. You can sleep when you’re dead._

He bade his companions farewell before following Cassandra into the Chantry; it took little time for Josephine to swoop in on him. 

“It’s good you returned,” she said, though her cool, Antivan lilt was tinged with something unfamiliar. Panic? “We… heard of your encounter.”

Xander and Cassandra shared a look before Cassandra turned back to the ambassador; “You heard?”

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course.”

It took all of Xander’s fraying control to not jump; the Spymaster could be infuriatingly enigmatic sometimes. 

Cullen fell into step beside Leliana; “It’s a shame the Templars abandoned their senses as _well_ as the Capital.”

Xander shrugged his impossibly broad shoulders, rolling his neck to work out kinks he had no idea could exist; “At least we know how to approach the Mages _and_ the Templars now.”

They started to approach the impromptu war room, Cassandra right on his heels; “Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is… not the man I remember.”

“True. He has taken the Order somewhere,” Leliana interjected. “But to do what? My reports have been very _odd._ ”

“We must look into it,” Cullen demanded. “I’m _certain_ not everyone in the Order supports the Lord Seeker.”

“Or,” Josephine offered with a weary sigh, “the Herald could simply go meet the Mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

“And you think the Rebellion is more united?” Cullen snapped. “It could be ten times worse!”

“Enough.” Xander scrubbed a hand over his face. “I am tired and dirty and should not be making major decisions now! I’m sure whatever we decide, it can wait until tomorrow!”

“I’m not sure we have enough influence to approach either group, anyway,” Josephine offered.

Xander let out an indignant huff; so why were they arguing about it, then? “Look, I think I should at least speak with the Mages and see what the have to say. In the meantime, we have some operations in the Hinterlands. Cullen, how are those watchtowers?” 

“Coming along well,” Cullen replied. “I’ve just received a report from our workers in the field, and they should be up and working before the week’s end.”

“We’re also received word from Starkhaven,” Josephine added. “Prince Sebastian has heard of the Inquisition and the Conclave explosion, and seeks to offer any help he can.”

“Can he offer aid?” Xander asked. He remembered the youngest Prince very well. 

“Starkhaven is the richest city state in the Free Marches,” Josephine handed Xander the report she was reading from. “Sebastian is a religious man; he could give legitimacy to our cause, if nothing else.”

“The entire Vael family are closely tied to the Chantry,” Xander murmured, his bright green eyes flickering over the parchment. He pushed his long, black hair out of his eyes, pulling a face when he realized it desperately need a wash. “What do you recommend, Lady Josephine?”

“I suggest we send emissaries,” Josephine answered, settling her writing tablet on her arm. “As you well know, the Free Marches cities have always been independent, but we would do well to earn the support of the most prosperous ones.”

“Do it,” Xander commanded. “Anything else? Leliana?”

“I’m still working on something important,” Leliana replied enigmatically. “It could take some time; I’ll let you know when I know more.”

“That will be all then,” Xander said, straightening from the war table. He was sure all this bending over maps was terrible for the posture his mother so carefully cultivated. “If you need me, I will be bathing and sleeping until Doomsday.”

“I’m sure it is Doomsday, Herald,” Leliana quipped. 

“Well, wake me when it gets serious, then,” Xander shot back with a playful roll of his eyes. He was just about to head to his tent for some peace and quiet when one of Leliana’s scouts came clamoring into the war room.

“Sister Nightingale!” he exclaimed, snapping into a sloppy salute. “We have riders approaching Haven from the south!”

“The south?” Cullen glanced at the map with a cocked head. “How many are there? Who are they with? What banner?”

“Four or five,” the scout reported. “Led by a young woman. They… they wear the sigil of the Templars.”

“The Templars?” Cassandra exclaimed. “Have some of the Knights seen sense?”

“They may be delivering a threat from the Lord Seeker,” Leliana sighed, her pale eyes narrowing imperceptibly. 

“We should be prepared to meet them,” Cullen suggested, his hand tightening on the pommel of his longsword. 

“We should also be prepared that they may be friendly, but won’t respond well to threats,” Josephine offered in the low, patient tone of a put-upon governess. 

“Either way, we should respond.” Xander tightened the strap on his greatsword, following Cullen and Cassandra out the doors. 

The young woman the scouts reported indeed wore Templar armor, but not the heavy plate of her companions. Two were in the traditional plate of the Order, while one wore fine leathers and a dark hood. The woman wore… the only thing it could be described as was armored robes; he’d seen Grey Warden mages wearing something similar. And the staff on her back marked her; she must have been one of the legendary Knight Enchanters. Ostwick was one of the few circles who employed mages in the Order. Each of them wore the Flaming Sword sigil across their breasts.

The woman looked… familiar; thick blonde hair was tied into a simple knot at the base of her skull, and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen were set in an ivory-colored, heart-shaped face. She had a fine bone structure and a delicate blue tattoo curling under her left eye. 

“Excuse me, I seek the Herald of Andraste,” the woman (well, upon closer examination, she was really more of a girl, no older than 23 years) asked from astride her delicate-looking white mare. 

“That is me,” Xander answered warily. “May I ask who you are?”

“I am Emma Trevelyan, Knight Enchanter of the Ostwick Order of Templars,” she answered smoothly. 

“Emma Trevelyan?” Something of… familiarity pricked at the back of Xander’s mind. “Wait, are you Leopold Trevelyan’s daughter?”

“Yes, he is my father,” Emma answered with a quirked brow. “Why do you ask?”

“I am Alexander Trevelyan,” Xander replied with an outstretched hand. “I’m Edward Trevelyan’s son.”

“Ah, good old Uncle Edward.” Emma rolled her eyes, a bright smile gracing her youthful face. “How is he? Still bitterly traditional, utterly ineffectual and abysmally religious?”

“Only as long as I’ve known him.” Xander grinned sardonically, helping Emma dismount her horse. “So what brings my lovely cousin to Haven?”

“I actually come on business,” Emma answered, gathering her horse's reins in her hands. “I didn’t realize you were the Herald of Andraste.”

“Yes, well, don’t go spreading it around,” Xander quipped. “I have a reputation of hedonism and sodomy to maintain.”

Emma barked out a very unlady-like guffaw he was sure his mother would be horrified by; Xander wrapped his arm around her narrow shoulders, careful to avoid her armored pauldrons. He was so _thrilled_ to have someone he knew and cared about here. He had two cousins and a baby sister in the Circle, and when they had fallen he’d been sick with worry. Seeing at least one of them alive and well was comforting. 

“Emma, I have to ask,” Xander murmured, hopefully well out of earshot of his advisors. “Iris… have you seen her? How do the other Circles fare?”

“I’m sorry, Alexander,” Emma answered. “I haven’t seen Iris since we were girls; I was pegged for the Order young.”

“I see,” Xander sighed. Then Emma _wouldn’t_ know where Iris was. “Oh, and ‘Xander’, please. Alexander was grandfather; it makes me feel like I’m at the Chantry with mother.”

“Oh, can’t have that, can we?” Emma snarked, rolling her eyes. “Aunt Beatrice was just awful at family gatherings; I couldn’t imagine her in a Chantry.”

“Considering she doesn’t seem to be an assassin coming for you under the banner of friendship,” Cassandra said, turning towards her spot by the practice dummies. “I will leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Xander called after her. 

“She seems… pleasant,” Emma murmured with a quirked brow.

“Cassandra? Yeah, she’s great when she doesn’t have you chained to a floor,” Xander quipped.

“I’m sorry, did I black out during that sentence?” Emma blinked at him in utter bafflement. 

“No, but it’s a long story. Tell me, little cousin, did you come all the way to Haven to see my handsome face, or is something wrong?”

“Well, something about the whole ‘the world is ending and the Veil is torn open’ drives me to seek your assistance,” Emma groused with a roll of her bright blue eyes. “In all seriousness, though, I do have news.”

“Really?” Xander held the flap of his tent open, ushering her in. “Do tell.”

“It’s about the Order,” Emma said gravely. “I assume you met the contingent of Templars in Val Royeaux.”

“Contingent?” Xander canted his head, pulling some of his favorite Antivan brandy out of its hiding place. “You mean there’s more?”

“Of course there’s more,” Emma sighed and accepted her drink. “Lord Seeker Lucius… he hasn’t been himself. I knew something was wrong when he took us all to Therinfal Redoubt; and then—”

“Wait,” Xander interrupted. “Therinfal Redoubt?”

“Old Seeker fortress,” Emma explained. “Abandoned at the end of the Blessed Age; ask your Seeker if you want more details, but I had to leave. I had to come warn you.”

“What? What’s happening, Emma?” 

“The Templars,” she swallowed hard; her whole face crumpled in anguish. Her stature was that of a woman defeated, if the slump in her shoulders was to be believed. “The Templars were taking a different type of Lyrium. It’s… It’s red.” 

“Is that different from the normal stuff?” 

“It was in Kirkwall,” Emma answered with a shudder. “This shit turned the Knight Commander to stone; she was driven mad by just being near the stuff.”

“I hate to interrupt,” a deep voice from outside the tent called. The flap was pushed to the side, Varric veritably fuming on the other side. “But did she say Red Lyrium?”

“What’s it to you?” Emma snapped, reflexively reaching for the bladeless hilt tucked in her belt. It looked harmless, but Xander knew better. 

“Stand down, cousin. Varric, this charming young lady is my cousin, Emma.” Xander nudged her playfully in the shoulder. “Emma, this is my friend, Varric Tethras.”

“Varric _Tethras?”_ Emma turned a very interesting shade of crimson. “I...um… am a big fan of your books.”

“What did you say about Red Lyrium?” Varric demanded, ignoring her comment.

“The Templars,” Emma sighed. “Or what’s left of them. The officers have been taking Red Lyrium. It’s supposed to be very hush-hush, but…”

“But you found out,” Xander finished. “Emma, that was dangerous!”

“It doesn’t matter, Xander!” she snapped. “I grabbed a few loyal Knights and came here as quickly as I could! We have _no idea_ how this could affect people, or why anyone would want to do this! Not to mention the Lord Seeker has lost his damn mind, and… I’m _afraid,_ Xander! The Order was supposed to stand against the chaos, but with the rogues and now this! Some of my friends are still in the Order!”

“Emma, calm down.” Xander put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll… we’ll figure something out.”

~~~

“So the matter is settled?” Cullen demanded, leaning over the map. “We’re going to Therinfal?”

“It is troubling,” Josephine replied. “Red Lyrium? Why would the Lord Seeker resort to such a thing?”

“Just being in contact with it made Meredith unbelievably powerful,” Cullen explained. “I couldn’t imagine what actually ingesting it would do.”

“You must be pleased, Commander,” Xander said with a weary sigh. 

“I’m not a child who threw a tantrum until he got his way!” Cullen snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course I want to save the Templars; I may have left the Order, but they were my brothers and sisters. And they’re a known quantity. The Rebel Mages…”

“Not so much,” Xander finished. “I suppose we should prepare to go to Therinfal as soon as possible. According to Emma, she can get a small party through the gates.” 

A loud bang drew their attention and their gaze; sunlight streamed into the dim war room, and a shadow pooled over the map. A young woman had slammed open the doors to the room, covered head-to-toe in road dust, swathed in rough-spun, sturdy travelling clothes. She scowled up at Xander, her clear blue eyes wild and bright with a strange, electric energy, framed by dark purple tattoos. 

She looked familiar…

“Don’t be so hasty, Herald,” she snapped. “The situation in Redcliffe has become _quite_ dire.”


	2. Chapter 2

**9:40 Dragon**

“Well, that’s it,” Ser Ulrich sighed, grasping the crumpled parchment in his hands. “The vote has been cast; Grand Enchanter Fiona has just agreed to dissolve the Circles.”

“What?” Emma exclaimed, her hands clawing into tight fists. “That can’t be!”

“They’re responding to Kirkwall, I would imagine,” Ser Cassius responded in her smooth Antivan accent. She pushed her hand through her dark hair, the tightness around her golden eyes the only sign of any stress. 

“Aye,” Ser Fergus huffed under his breath. This was serious; normally, nothing about Fergus was soft or quiet, but now he was withdrawn. His beady, beetle-black eyes turned on her, piteous under his cloud of bright red hair. “I suppose that makes you an apostate, lass.”

“No!” Emma shot back, gritting her teeth against the sudden rage. “I will never betray the Order!”

“He didn’t say you would, Emma,” Ulrich soothed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. He squeezed reassuringly, his grey eyes twinkling with some unidentifiable emotion. “Officially, though, you are an apostate. I suppose all Mages are, now.”

“So what do we do?” Cassius asked, barely blinking at the easy affection Ulrich showed to Emma. They’d all been teammates for long enough for her to no longer care about their flagrant disregard for fraternization rules. “Do we abandon our investigation? Knight-Lieutenant?”

Ulrich’s mouth tightened into a thin line; “No. Apostasy may not mean much any longer, but this Mage is still...dangerous. The Knight-Commander authorized lethal force, and you know Gerhardt doesn’t send Emma on these missions unless it’s serious.”

Ah, yes. Her eldest brother would be heading to Val Royeaux as they spoke, most likely. They hunted a maleficar who took inspiration from the man who destroyed Kirkwall’s Chantry, and while the level of destruction in Ostwick hadn’t been quite that dire, he still needed to be stopped. They were reaching the end of his trail somewhere in the Planasene Forest. 

“Orders, Ser?” Fergus asked, hefting his great maul. 

“We’ll find the maleficar, and then join the remainder of the Order at the White Spire,” Ulrich commanded with no hesitation. “Tonight, we camp and resume our search by first light.”

“Yes, Ser!” They gave crisp salutes before flying into action, pulling the camp together. 

For nearly five years, she’d worked with these Templars, and she knew everything about them—Cassius was a young orphan from the Antivan streets who’d transferred to Ostwick not long after her full induction into the Order; Fergus was a farmer from Starkhaven who had wanted to give his wife and children a better life while serving the Maker; and Ulrich was the spare son of a noble in Hercinia, promised to the Order at infancy. The knew everything about each other and worked like a perfect mechanism, but of course it hadn’t started that way.

Emma had been pegged for work in combat early; her very first manifested spell had been making it snow in her bedroom when she was a little girl. When she was about 11, the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander had pulled her into the First Enchanter’s chambers and presented the idea to her. 

“You have shown diligence and determination,” the First Enchanter had intoned. “You have displayed control and obedience and devotion to the Circle and to the Maker; Apprentice, the Knight Commander and I would like to extend an invitation for you to join the Knight Enchanters of Ostwick.”

At first, she’d had no idea what it meant. She’d never even heard of a Knight Enchanter, but as the First Enchanter explained it to her, she became intrigued. She would train with the Templars for combat, defensive and tactical training along with her normal lessons. She would receive special lessons specific to this path, as well. It would be a hard fought position, but one of great honor. 

She accepted on the spot. 

She took her Harrowing at 18; they’d summoned a Pride Demon, who she conquered. Then, she took her Vigil, and after her first Philter, she was able to craft her Spirit Blade hilt. She received her special armor and was assigned to her team, and she’d been with them ever since. They were an investigation squad, often bringing back people who ran away. She learned that Ulrich was one of the good ones as far as Templars were concerned. He always tried to opt for the peaceful route, rarely resorting to violence, and she began to love it in him. 

When her team tracked the maleficar and took care of him, Ulrich gave him a pyre and said a blessing; _may he know peace and forgiveness, may he walk at the Maker’s side_. Emma murmured a soft affirmative before they turned South East for Val Royeaux. It was a long, arduous journey, and often they were beset with Rebels and even rogue Templars before they made it safely to the Spire. The very idea that so many of the Order had abandoned their posts to hunt so called Rebels incensed her like nothing else. The cliche of the bloodthirsty Templar ran rampant in the Circles, and these men and women were just enforcing ugly stereotypes. 

It was a stereotype she was intimately familiar with. All through her training, she’d had the idea hammered in her head that she was in an enviable position; the pitch of the Knight Enchanter was a romantic one—the best of Mages, the highest any Mage could strive for. She would see the world, bring equality and justice to her fellows, and show the world that Mages were to be respected but not feared. Unfortunately, the reality was a different story altogether. The truth of the matter was that Templars, with the exception of her own team, had been tentative around her at best. At worst, they were often borderline violent with her. As for her fellow Mages, they saw her as an attack dog of the Templars—a faithful pet trained to betray her own kind. 

Despite all of it, though, Emma was proud to be a part of the Order. She stood for it’s principles above all else. So when her team was summoned to Divine Justinia’s conclave, and she was asked to be left behind, she was angry. She felt betrayed; her whole team was headed to the conclave! _Why_ would they leave her behind? As much as it hurt, though, Ser Ulrich tried his best. 

“They won’t see you how I see you,” he explained gently. He’d held her close that day, and she’d pressed into him. She felt uneasy about the whole situation, and the Lord Seeker was acting… strangely. 

“Everything is falling apart,” she whimpered, pulling him close. “I can’t… I can’t picture my life without you.”

“Emma,” he sighed, his voice heavy with affection tempered by… was that grief? Maker, she hoped not. “You know I see you as one of the best people I know—not just as a Mage, but a _person_ and a woman. And I love you. But… tensions are high, and some of these people will see you...They’ll see my beautiful girl as nothing more than a symbol of everything they are trying to tear down, and they will… They could do awful things to you, Emma. I can’t bear for anything to happen to you.”

“And I _can’t_ lose you, Ulrich! It would… It would kill me. I’m not strong enough.”

Ulrich pulled back from her, running his calloused thumb over her lip. She leaned into his touch, not bearing the thought of closing her eyes. Something told her it would be the last moment they ever spent like this, and she needed to savor everything about him, from his clear grey eyes to his shiny dark hair falling in a thick braid over his shoulder. He was so beautiful… how could she not love him?

He reached behind him, and pulled off his amulet—a simple, silver pendant with his family’s heraldry on it; “Keep this, then. It will give you strength—and I will come back for it, so keep it safe.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise,” he replied, drawing her into a fierce embrace. “Stay safe, my girl. If the Maker smiles on us, we will make peace, and I’ll come back for you.”

Apparently, the Maker did not smile on them. 

~~~

“I’m free,” Iris Trevelyan whispered to the air as she stood on the Ferelden coast. In truth she had been free the day the Circle was disbanded, but she didn't feel it then. When Grier had woken her to tell her the news she had been ready to flee. Money pilfered away hidden from the Templars over the years bought them passage on a ship, luckily with a captain who merely nodded at the staves on their backs. 

Iris had wanted to go to Kirkwall to find Alyx, her only friend besides Grier in the circle. They had sent Alyx there shortly after her Harrowing, ostensibly to make room for more apprentices. But Iris knew the truth; Alyx had been outspoken and willing to speak her mind. Too wild for the Circle, she heard the First Enchanter say once. All Circles were prisons; Kirkwall was the worst of them. Alyx was sent there to be broken. Iris and Grier spent the night crying when they heard of the explosion and the attempted purge by the Knight Commander.

“We can’t go to Kirkwall, Iris. It's more dangerous there than anywhere else for us,” Grier had told her when she suggested it.

“We could find Alyx though; we’re all free now we can go anywhere now. You can be together!”

“Iris, it's not safe and who knows what has happened to the Gallows.”

“We can protect each other; we’re strong, and with Alyx…”

“Alyx is _dead,_ Iris!” Grier shouted, raising her voice for the first time in Iris’s memory.

“You don’t know that,” she said, fighting back the tears. 

“You heard the stories; half the Mages died in the purge. Alyx would have been on the front line; you know what she was like.”

The argument had ended there. Fighting would do them no good. So they booked passage to Highever and for the first time in her life, Iris saw the open sea. The wind stung her eyes but she stared at the horizon for hours until the captain berated her for getting in the way of the deck hands.

They found a cheap inn near the docks and paid for a room for the week. Iris spent her evenings in the tavern listening for rumors. When Grier questioned why Iris explained that in every adventure book she had read the hero would find out the answers they needed by listening to drunks at the tavern. Iris loved books; they were her window to the world that the Circle kept her away from. She believed wholeheartedly that she could find the solution to any problem in a book, fiction or nonfiction. Within days her efforts bore fruit; the tavern talk had one singular focus—the Mage Rebellion.

“We’re going to Redcliffe!” Iris announced, bounding into the room excitedly. Grier looked at her as though she had gone mad.

“Redcliffe; why?”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona and many of the Rebel Mages have taken shelter there. King Alistair has given them sanctuary. We can be there in a fortnight if we make good time, even shorter if we can find horses.”

“You want to join the Rebellion?”

“Of course! Don’t you? You hated the Circle; this is our chance to make sure we never have to go back. We can make a difference, add our voices to the cause.”

“Iris, in what world will our voices ever be heard? You’re only three years out of your Harrowing; who is going to listen to you?”

“I’ll make them listen.”

“I’m not leaving one prison to willingly give myself to another. The Grand Enchanter did this to us; she made us apostates without warning. I won’t go there and shackle myself further to the whims of her and others who don’t even know my name.”

“Grier, I want to go.” 

Iris could not remember a time in her life when she had been allowed to decide her own fate. When she was six she had decided to surprise her mother by reheating her tea when it had gone cold. She had only just discovered the ability a few days prior after having warmed up a roll in her hand by thought alone. She would never forget the look of absolute horror on her mother’s face that day; she knew she had done something wrong. The Templars arrived within days and from then on, Iris discovered that she was no longer in control of any part of her life. 

When she had learned her letters, she wrote to her mother, begging to see her, to be forgiven for her mistake. Mother never answered, and the letters from her father always asked the same two questions: was she well, and did she require anything. Over the years she noticed the handwriting changed, and soon realized that it was not even his. She was never left wanting for anything, save their love and their acceptance. So in time she hardened her heart and learned that mages were her true family, and anyone without magic was someone who could not be trusted.

She and Grier parted ways the next day, though Grier could not say where she was going. In truth she had no direction planned, only that she would avoid the main roads to avoid being caught by rogue templars. She promised to send letters to Redcliffe should she ever find herself settled down. 

“Be strong, be smart, and remember that you cannot trust anyone. Do not be afraid to use your magic to defend yourself. Fire is in your veins, Iris, and it will keep you safe,” Grier said, hugging her tight.

“I love you Grier; you’re my sister, now and forever.”

The first night was the hardest; alone for the first time in her life, every sound in the woods was a predator or a bandit. Despite Grier’s warnings about having a fire going at night she built herself a small one when sleep was no longer an option. Fire was her friend, the warming spell she had learned on her own over the years developed into the ability form fire in her hands at will. Though she was alone she checked her surroundings before pulling the folded parchment from her pouch. She had looked over the letter every night, fixing the mistakes, and telling herself she would send it once it was perfect.

_~~Lord and Lady Trevelyan~~ _

~~_Mother and Father_ ~~

~~__~~My dearest Mother and Father,

_~~The Circles have fallen.~~ As you may well have already been informed the vote to dissolve the Circles has been cast. ~~I am now an apostate~~ I am now free to return home, though it has been ~~fifteen~~ many years since you last saw me. I have not changed much except in size and am still your loving and dutiful daughter. ~~Though there is a chance the Circles may reform.~~ Though I do not know if and when the Rebellion will end, I should very much like to see you before I make my return to the Circle, should it be reinstated. ~~I remember my brother and~~ I know that my time away was a choice you had to make and I do not blame you for it. ~~I simply miss the~~ I hope you are well and that this letter finds you in good health._

_Your Loving Daughter, Iris Trevelyan_

The parchment caught fire in her hands and she watched it burn. There was no point in sending it; her family had forgotten her the day she was taken. She knew the only reason they saw to her needs was in an effort to keep her happy enough to not consider running away. To stop her from trying to come back. She tried to recall their faces; she had a brother once too, didn’t she? His hair was black like hers and he would let her braid it. 

“It doesn’t matter if I did. They are not Mages; they are not my family,” she said to the night air as though it might answer her back. When every last bit of parchment had burned away, she found it quite easy to fall asleep listening to the empty sounds of the forest.

~~~

**Present Day**

Alyx nursed her ale, ears straining to listen to the conversations around her.

Something was wrong. Even if the way no one here wanted to make eye contact with her wasn’t enough evidence, she could feel it in the air, setting her teeth on edge.

She’d had no luck trying to meet with the Grand Enchanter, so she was resorting to this. When in doubt, inns are the best places for rumors. Of course, she hadn’t learned much today. Too many quick glances over shoulders, hushed voices and upturned hoods. Rather worryingly, though, she was sure she’d caught the word “Magister” a few times. She had hoped the rumors of Tevinter being involved would _not_ be true. 

As if on cue, a man wearing flashy Tevinter style robes walked in, glancing about the room before approaching the bar. A few words exchanged and the bartender slid a glass of wine towards him, and he lifted the glass and took a seat at the end of the bar.

Alyx watched as he lifted the glass to his lips a few times, though he did so in an almost distracted way, his eyes scanning the room, brow furrowed slightly. He was listening, too. Was he this Magister she’d heard speak of? Or perhaps he was here to spy for the Magister. She took another sip of ale, wondering what to do. Was it worth the risk to try to corner him to get information?

As the Tevinter glanced around the room again, his eyes fell on Alyx, his frown deepening slightly as he saw her staring back. The look wasn’t malicious, though, and when he pulled out the stool next to his and gave it a pat, Alyx found herself rising from her seat and crossing the room to join him.

She slid onto the stool, setting her mug down on the counter and looking ahead, not making eye contact with the man next to her.

“So, do all Tevinters have poncy mustaches, or is that just you?”

“Is that how they say ‘good evening’ in the South, then?”

Alyx glanced over at him and smirked slightly.

“Are you this Magister I keep hearing about?”

“ _No_. I am a Mage from Tevinter, but I am not a Magister. That would be Alexius.”

“You know him, then?” Alyx asked, leaning in.

“Yes, I do. I was his apprentice.”

_His apprentice?_ Alyx raised an eyebrow at him.

“ _Was_? And who are you, anyway?”

“Ah, forgive me. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. And Alexius and I… we had a falling out.” He took a sip at his wine before giving her an appraising look. “What brings _you_ to Redcliffe, then? I take it since you’re here asking pointed questions, and not up at the castle making nice with the Grand Enchanter, that you are not here to join the Rebel Mages? Wise move.”

“We— _I_ heard rumors. Nothing too specific, mind, but whispers of Tevinter, and a vague sense of something wrong in Redcliffe. I came to find out what.”

“Well, wherever these rumors came from, you had a good source. The Rebels have indentured themselves to Alexius.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Oh, don’t worry, it gets worse. Alexius has allied himself with a Tevinter supremacist cult known as the Venatori. And this—all of this—is a trap.”

“For who?”

“For the Herald of Andraste.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I need you to go ahead to Haven,” Dorian requested. “It’s the only way they’ll trust me enough.”

“You don’t think they’ll trust you?” the abrasive mage quirked her brows at him, and he once again found his eye drawn to the bold, angular tattoo that engulfed most of her face. She really _was_ quite striking, if one was into that sort of thing. There was something haunted in her eyes, though, something that might explain the weary lines on an otherwise young face.

“Sweetheart, I am a Magister from the Evil Imperium storming into their stronghold to spout tales of impossible magics,” he quipped. “If they do trust me without _some_ sort of proof, I think the Herald isn’t quite as clever as Alexius would have his followers believe.”

Alyx rolled her eyes; “So you think they will trust me more? And you said you weren’t a Magister.”

“You of all people will know they won’t see the nuance.”

“Fair point,” Alyx sighed, pulling her hood over her dark, close-cropped hair. “If all goes well, I will only be about a day ahead of you.”

“Well, then, keep saying ‘if all goes well.’ That _never_ invites doom upon us!”

She snorted derisively; “Ha! I have nothing to fear from doom.”

With a smug toss of her head, she was on the road to Haven. It amazed him—Alyx was definitely younger than him. She put up a front of prickly aloofness, but he knew better. He recognized the armor—it fit her about as well as his constant mantle of wit and flirtation. Yet he found himself achingly curious to burrow down to what lie beneath.

With her departure, he was left him with the imperative task of sitting on his hands until after dark. He’d been shocked at best to find the southern Rebellion ready to confer with his homeland at all, let alone be willing to indenture themselves to a Magister. There was a time when he would have trusted Alexius with a flock of mages, scared and confused but ready and eager for real change. Everything Alexius was trying to fix in Tevinter could be circumvented if only the Rebels would fall into the correct hands. 

But now? The Venatori threatened _everything_ , and the whispers of this Elder One were ominous at best. Everything that Alexius and him had worked for would vanish in the course of an ill-timed trap, and the world would shatter before their eyes. The myopia of his countrymen could be infuriating at times; couldn’t they see that if the world fell to chaos, Tevinter would be included? No! Of course not! Tevinter was _above_ the plebeians in the South; it would crumble into the sea while the Imperium ruled, Elder One or no. 

After what felt like an eternity of anxious fussing, night fell on the village of Redcliffe, and the tension in the adorably quaint little hamlet was palpable. He could taste it on the wind like a fine Teraevyn red. Drawing his cloak around him, careful to hide the decidedly Tevinter staff, he set out. If the maps were correct, Haven was a mere two or three days walk if he took a road that was ironically called the Imperial Highway. Sometimes, he felt like if he looked close enough, he could see the skeletons of the Imperium’s rule. He had to hand it to Ferelden—it was a stubborn little country, if a bit dog-like in odor. 

Of course, the novelty of the muddy roads and the bitter winds wore off about as quickly as one would expect—Dorian was grumpy and sour before he’d even made it out of the Hinterlands, and Haven was still a few days away. He sighed petulantly, running his hand through his hair.

“This is what I get for doing a good deed,” he chuckled to himself without mirth. In all seriousness, the brutal late winter had yet to lift from Ferelden (and never would, if his luck continued in this vein) and he could make warm-blooded jokes until the bloody cows came home. But he wasn’t used to this cold, and he could feel it sapping every ounce of spare energy.

Ice cold anxiety, colder even than the air around him, curled at the base of his spine; what if… what if something happened? Rebels with murder on their minds, rogue Templars (the _southern_ kind, who could actually block magic) who would kill a man as soon as a shovel could be mistaken for a staff, and general run-of-the-mill bandits infested the area. He longed for feel of the smooth wooden haft of his staff beneath his fingers. He knew better, though. If the fact it was definitely a staff (the glowing crystal in the tip gave him away every time) wasn’t enough to get him killed, the decidedly Tevinter adornment at the top would certainly invoke the ire of any self-respecting Fereldan. Or Orlesian. Or really, anyone not from the Imperium. 

“What made me leave Redcliffe at night, I’ll never know,” Dorian huffed, drawing his cloak further around him. He made a disgusted noise under his breath, keen to every small sound around him, from the shuffling of wildlife in the bushes to the near silent wingbeats of a (rather large) Horned Owl. It set his teeth on edge and made his skin feel a few sizes too small. 

If he hadn’t been so keyed up, he may not have heard the tiny gasp of surprise from the mountainside cave. 

~~~

Iris watched the fire burn; it was almost a meditative activity to watch the veins of power in the little glyph on the damp ground. Normally, she took pride in being able to build a fire the old-fashioned way, but the previous night’s torrential downpour had left anything even remotely resembling firewood soaked through to the point of uselessness. Hence, the cave—it was low and cramped, but dry. The fire could possibly draw the attention of one of the renegades, or the rogue templars, or bandits… or bears. Or any one of the myriad dangers that wandered this part of Ferelden; but it offered light, and it kept the giant spiders at the back of the cave at bay, and for that she was grateful. 

A tiny snort drew her attention, and despite herself, she gasped. It was a tiny, pink nug with the _cutest little nose ever._ It waggled its ears at her, his big eyes regarding her with a combination of trust and curiosity. 

“Oh, Maker,” she breathed, slowly getting to her knees. “Aren’t you just… You are so cute!”

She shuffled forward, extending her hand— _so slowly—_ and suppressed the urge to squeal when it waddled forward a few careful, cautious steps. _Its little legs!!_ She’d loved nugs as long as she could remember—she wasn’t sure why, but she was positive it had something to do with those little noses of theirs. A vague memory pulled at the back of her mind, something that may have been important… it distracted her long enough for her to hear a shuffle outside of the cave. 

The nug must have heard it too, because it darted away as quick as its little legs could carry it. Iris whipped her head around to the opening, her ire burning bright. A man stood in the mouth of her little shelter, the only thing stopping her from incinerating him on the spot the staff poking out the top of his cloak. 

“You scared it away!”

“Excuse me?” He cocked a perfectly-groomed eyebrow, his smirk making his immaculately-shaped mustache twitch. 

“There was the _cutest little nug,_ ” she snapped, planting her fists firmly on her hips. “And you _frightened_ him with your _fancy boots._ ”

The man chuckled, shaking his head; “You say ‘fancy boots’ the way most men say ‘dog shit’.”

“Well, they scared away the nug,” Iris retorted with a roll of her eyes. “So right now, I have equal feelings for both.”

“You are a strange girl,” the man quipped bluntly. Iris canted her head slightly; she rather liked him already. He reminded her of someone… He snapped his head in the direction of vague movement in the grass. “Would you mind terribly if I join you?”

Iris narrowed her eyes suspiciously; “You aren’t one of those rogues who’ve been killing everything that crosses their path, are you?”

“Darling, the only thing roguish about me are my good looks,” he replied, puffing out his chest. 

“Oh, well then by all means,” Iris quipped, dropping her head in a mocking bow, flourishing her hands with extravagant emphasis. “Do join me, good sir.”

“No need for that,” he said, waggling his fingers at her. “So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a hole like this?”

Iris bristled at the implication; “I can take care of myself, thank you. No matter the hole.”

“I’m so sure,” he placated. “That fire glyph is genius, actually. Inspired. Did you make that?”

Iris smirked, turning her palm upwards. She felt the telltale heat prickle at the ends of her fingers as she drew on her signature, the special type of magic she’d had since she was a girl. With barely a thought, a controlled ball of flame burst to life in her palm. It burned hot, the air wavering above it, but to her it was harmless. 

“Impressive!” The man turned his palm upwards as well, and with a similar gesture a ball of flame came to his hand as well. 

“I don’t know anyone else who can do that!” Iris exclaimed. 

“It’s not a terribly common skill,” he explained, letting his flame stutter and extinguish in his clenched fist. “You have to have an affinity for fire to have this level of control.”

“Really?” Iris asked, letting her own fire flutter out. The cave suddenly seemed so much darker without it, but somehow she felt safer. No one— _no one_ —had ever given her the idea that her little trick might be… special. 

“My name is Dorian,” he chuckled. “Dorian Pavus.”

“Iris,” she replied easily. “Iris Trevelyan.”

“Trevelyan! That makes you my little cousin!”

“That seems… like an incredible coincidence.”

“Oh, it’s quite distant,” Dorian replied flippantly. “Three or four times removed, at least. Any relation to the Herald of Andraste?”

“Excuse me!?”

“The Herald. It’s all anyone can talk about these days; he’s a Trevelyan as well, if the rumors are the believed.”

Iris tried not to grind her back teeth together; “The Trevelyans are… a large family.” 

Dorian, Maker bless him, chose not to comment on her bitter tone of voice. Or pry. Which made her eternally grateful. Iris let her arms loosen around her knees. “Are you going to Redcliffe, too?”

Dorian made a _face._ She recognized that face; Grier often made it at the word _templar._ “No. Leaving it, actually.”

“What? Why?” She hadn’t heard of many Mages that weren’t using the fall of the Circles as an excuse for murder going anywhere _other_ than Redcliffe. Well… except Grier. 

“It’s a long story,” Dorian replied obliquely. “I’m heading to Haven to meet with the aforementioned Herald.”

“Really?” Iris asked, wide-eyed. “Why… who is the Herald?”

“Surely, you _must_ have heard,” Dorian quirked an eyebrow at her, though there was no mirth in his expression. A darkness clouded his hazel eyes. 

“Heard what?” 

“The Conclave?” Dorian pressed. He must have seen the utter _lack_ of recognition on her face, because he suddenly looked sad. Almost _pitying._ “Oh, child. You haven’t heard.”

“I am _not_ a child,” Iris retorted petulantly. “I’ve just been on the road. It’s not necessarily the best time to be hearing news aside from the Fereldan crop output. Just so you know, locusts have decimated the wheat crop in Highever.”

“Aren’t you knowledgeable,” he chuckled, though it seemed forced. _Oh Maker, something horrible must have happened!_ “The Divine called a Conclave of the leaders of the Mage Rebellion and the Templars. There was going to be a chance for peace, but… there was an explosion. Everyone… everyone died. The Temple of Sacred Ashes, Andraste’s resting place, everything… everything is gone. Except one man.”

“The Herald of Andraste,” Iris finished. She quirked a brow. “So he survived an explosion that he didn’t cause—which I find hard to believe—and that makes him the Herald of our modern religion?”

“There are rumors about him being delivered from the Fade by Andraste and being chosen. It’s quite complicated. Either way, he’s inspired a movement. The Inquisition.”

She’d heard of the Inquisition, but only in vague and somewhat-terrified whispers. They were apparently set up just outside the Hinterlands, a mere day or so in the other direction. From what she heard, they were taking anyone who would pledge to their cause. The Rebels in Redcliffe had seemed her only option, but if he was _leaving…_

“Why are you leaving Redcliffe?” she asked, bracing for the worst possible thing. 

Dorian heaved a great sigh, his shoulders sagging pitifully; “The Grand Enchanter has made a horrible mistake… and a trap is being set for the Herald of Andraste. I have to do my part to stop it or… or it could be the end of _everything._ For everyone.”

Iris bit her bottom lip; part of being outside the Circle—being _free_ —meant making her own decisions. Good sense told her the Rebels were her best bet. They were a known quantity. They were her people. But Grier’s words suddenly burned bright in her mind.

_I’m not leaving one prison to willingly give myself to another. The Grand Enchanter did this to us; she made us apostates without warning. I won’t go there and shackle myself further to the whims of her and others who don’t even know my name._

Was Redcliffe her best option? Was Haven? She didn’t know, but… something in this strange man pulled at something familiar in her. Vague memories of a boy who called her Princess and played pretend with her, who snuggled nightmares away and told her she could be anything, even a Princess Knight. For some reason, Dorian brought out these suddenly _vivid_ recollections in her. 

“If you are going to Haven,” Iris said, lifting her chin slightly. “I will accompany you.”

“I thought you were going to join the Rebels.”

“If things are this dire,” Iris explained, meeting his eyes directly, lest he question her resolve. “It seems this Herald may be the only one who can bring the world to order. Besides, if you can’t move silently enough to not scare off a _nug_ , then you probably need someone watching your back.”

“Well then, Lady Iris, I will happily accept your protection. My delicate sensibilities can’t handle this Fereldan cold.”

“The only ones who can handle Fereldan cold seem to be Fereldans,” Iris laughed. “First light, then, Master Pavus?”

“First light,” Dorian replied with a grin.


	4. Chapter 4

Xander gritted his teeth, anger burning bright and hot in his chest; “So you mean to tell me a fucking _Magister_ has indentured the mages?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” the girl, Alyx, replied. She quirked her brow at him, and he knew. He knew that _she knew_ she had him. He couldn’t leave a force like the Mage Rebellion in the hands of a power like a Tevinter Magister. That would be… bad. Very bad. 

“And you say,” Xander continued, “that a Tevinter friend of yours will be joining us soon to give us all this horrible news about impossible magic, and I have to trust him?”

“Maker, you’re dense,” Alyx retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Yes, Dorian shouldn’t be far behind me, and he will have details. A plan. A good plan, I hope.”

“You _hope!?”_ Xander snapped. 

“Don’t fucking yell at me; I’m just the messenger,” Alyx groused, crossing her arms defensively. “I didn’t _have_ to turn myself in to a force that seemed ready to ally with the fucking _Templars._ ”

On ‘Templars’, Alyx shot a glare at Emma, her blue eyes flickering to the flaming-sword sigil on her breastplate. 

“You didn’t turn yourself over to us,” Xander placated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re an ally, and we won’t… I am sorry. When is your friend joining us?”

_“Dorian_ will be joining us within the day; he isn’t more than half a day behind me, if all goes well.”

Emma quirked her brow, silent until this point; “So you are saving the Rebel Mages, then?”

“That seems to be the plan,” Xander replied. 

“And what of the Order? Shall we abandon them to their fate?” Emma pressed, her eyes cold. Her gaze flickered over to Alyx, who suddenly adopted an aggressive stance. 

“The _Templars_ made their bed when they turned us into _prisoners!_ When they determined we weren’t _real people_ , like everyone else! I say let them fall; the world will be better without them.”

Xander caught a brief glance of movement out of the corner of his eye; for a brief second, Cullen looked stricken. He made a wounded noise under his breath, averting his eyes, but remaining silent. 

_I’ll have to interrogate him about that later._

Emma straightened her shoulders, her small hands curling into angry fists. The room dropped a few degrees in temperature, and Cullen and Cassandra shot her warning glances. Her voice was as cold as the magic that played at her fingertips; “Many Templars are good men and women with _families_ and _children_ , just following orders and you would _doom them_ because of your prejudices?”

Xander’s hair stood on end as static ran up the back of his neck. Alyx’s own magic was crackling in the air; “Maybe if they chose a profession that didn’t require them to treat us like demons waiting to happen, they wouldn’t require saving!”

“We _are_ demons waiting to happen,” Emma snarled. “They are good men and I will _not_ abandon them!”

“So don’t abandon them!” Alyx snapped. “No one’s _forcing_ you to stay, _Templar._ ”

“Enough!” Xander roared, stepping between the girls. “Separate corners, alright? Look, Emma, I’m sorry, but I can’t leave the Mages in the hands of a Magister. Even if I _could_ abandon our own to that fate, I won’t.”

“They are innocents, and who knows what a Magister may do to them,” Emma said coolly. She allowed her power to dispel, breathing deeply. “I understand. Apologies, Enchanter.”

“Do _not_ call me that,” Alyx hissed, whirling on her heel. “Herald, I assume we depart for Redcliffe as soon as my companion gets here?”

“Give us some time to prepare,” Xander sighed deeply. “Redcliffe Castle is a fortress, and _nothing_ to sneeze at. And we’re cousins, Alyx. Call me Xander.”

Alyx narrowed her eyes and went to leave when she was nearly bowled over by an Inquisition scout; “Herald! Two strangers have approached; they seek _you,_ specifically.” 

“Two?” Xander turned his bright-green gaze on Alyx, his brow quirked in askance. 

“Don’t look at me; I was under the impression Dorian was travelling alone.”

Xander shrugged his massive shoulders; “Well, then. I suppose we better greet them.” Despite his flippant attitude, he was still _very_ much aware of the heavy greatsword on his back. They could be anyone, with any number of intentions. “Alyx, if you could do me the honor of accompanying me to the gates? I would like a confirmation these aren’t a pair of assassins come to do me in.”

“For all you know, _I_ could be an assassin come to do you in,” Alyx retorted archly.

“Oh yes, that’s _very_ comforting,” Emma growled under her breath. 

Alyx must have heard, because her whole stance stiffened. She shot a poisonous look over her shoulder; “I will accompany you to the gates, Xander.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling very much put out. He hoped—oh, Maker he _hoped—_ these two wouldn’t fight nonstop if they were to remain in Haven. He’d come up with a policy—don’t turn away anyone willing to help as long as they followed his one rule about not killing him. But these two were testing his patience. 

The man they met at the gates was… well, he certainly _looked_ Tevinter, from his ridiculous leather robes (who needed _that many_ belts and straps? _)_ to his neatly-trimmed, close-cropped, artfully messy dark hair (which _absolutely did not_ bring out the soft curve of his cheekbones, or the gentle slope of his gorgeous jawline; it certainly did not frame his almond shaped hazel eyes, nor did it serve to put his perfect full pout of a mouth on prominent display). Xander swallowed with some difficulty. 

“You um…” he had to clear his throat a few times. Suddenly, he felt _too big_ (which wasn’t uncommon in his life, but now it just felt comical) and he actively slouched a bit. “You must be Dorian.”

“Ah, my reputation precedes me, then,” the man quipped smoothly. “Dorian Pavus, previously of Minrathous. You must be that Herald of Andraste everyone is so worked up over.”

“Alexander Trevelyan,” Xander replied, sticking out his hand in what he hoped was a friendly gesture. “But you can call me Xander. Everyone does. Or at least that’s what I prefer. Sorry, I tend to ramble.”

“It’s perfectly precious, Xander,” Dorian chuckled, taking his proffered hand. Xander flushed furiously when he saw how much his giant mitt dwarfed the other man’s long, strong-but-delicate fingers. (And he certainly imagined the knowing look Dorian shot at the sight.) “Pleasure to meet you; I didn’t realize so many Trevelyans had migrated to Ferelden.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, well you’re the second,” Dorian explained. 

“Nice to see you made it in one piece,” Alyx said suddenly, smirking widely as she descended the stairs. “To be honest, I half-expected you to be knocked over by the first gentle breeze.”

“Hello to you too, Alyx. And if these are gentle breezes, I shudder to think what real Fereldan winds are like,” Dorian muttered darkly. “Oh, and the other Trevelyan, of course. I would like you to meet— oh, where is that girl? Iris!?”

Xander followed Dorian’s gaze, falling on a young girl in practical travelling leathers. Well, she looked young from here. She was fawning over Xander’s charger, and judging by her stance cooing at it like it was a puppy dog. He could see her dark hair from here, but it was the name that drew him. It couldn’t be… it had been fifteen years! With no word!

She flounced towards him, her smile guarded, but her cheeks freckled and rounded. Iris Trevelyan… when she turned her spring-green eyes on him, he knew. It was his baby sister.

“Iris,” he fairly whimpered, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. He felt a strange combination of regret, relief, and fear curl in his chest, tighter than a fist. But most of all, above everything, was _joy._ She was here, and nearly a foot shorter than him, but it didn’t matter. She was so beautiful and she was alive and he couldn’t handle it. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked, arching her dark eyebrow at him. 

“Iris, it’s… it’s me. It’s Xander!” A shard of ice lodged itself in his spine; his throat closed around the sob that threatened to tear out of him. There was no recognition. At all. She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, suddenly defensive. “Iris, I’m your brother!”

A muscle in her jaw twitched, like she suddenly grit her teeth; “Oh. Right. Well, it’s… nice to see you again.”

“Iris?” he gasped, suddenly unable to breathe properly. “I… you don’t remember.”

Xander took a step forward, his hands held helplessly between them. She took a deliberate step back, holding up her hands in a halting gesture. He floundered; the awkward silence of the scene was near palpable. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“Iris?” Alyx suddenly appeared at his elbow, and a wide, genuine grin crossed her face. “Andraste’s _tits,_ Iris! It’s Alyx!”

“Alyx!” Iris exclaimed, her eyes brightening in a way that made his heart hurt. _She used to look at me like that._

“I can’t believe it, Iris! You’re _here!_ Where’s Grier? Why isn’t she with you? Is she with the Rebellion? I didn’t see her!”

“Maker’s breath, Alyx! I can’t believe it’s you! We thought for sure you were dead… when we heard about Kirkwall—”

“No I survived!” Alyx exclaimed brightly, her posture open and welcoming. “I spent some time with a friend for a bit before I went to Redcliffe, but I didn’t see Grier. Why isn’t she with you? I thought she was supposed to look after you.”

“Oh… Alyx, she—,” Iris murmured, pursing her lips. Xander could barely look at her—she always did that when she was a little girl, and she was thinking very carefully about something. “Alyx, we thought you were _dead._ She and I parted ways a little over a month ago. I wanted to join the Mage Rebellion; she did not want to shackle herself to Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

“That’s my girl. She always was a smart one,” Alyx intoned proudly. “But… she was supposed to look after you!”

“I’m not the child you left back in Ostwick, Alyx. I can take care of myself!” Iris stuck out her chin stubbornly.

“Where did she go?” Alyx asked hopefully. “Did she tell you?”

“No,” Iris replied. “She wanted to be on her own; make her own way. I’m sorry Alyx. I should have asked her to come with me, or I should have gone with her! We never should have separated but.. _Maker_ , Alyx she thinks you’re dead!”

“I wish I could have told her,” Alyx snapped bitterly. “I wish I could have gotten her the _moment_ the Kirkwall Circle fell!”

“I’m sorry, Alyx.”

“It’s not your fault, Iris.” Alyx drew Iris into a fierce embrace. “I’m just so _fucking happy_ you’re alright!”

Xander felt a pang of jealousy for a moment; Iris wouldn’t even let him _touch_ her. And oh, he missed her. _Fifteen years,_ and never once did he stop thinking about her. He wondered if she’d gotten his letters—he’d certainly sent enough—but judging by her cold demeanor, she either didn’t get them or she didn’t care.

~~~

Iris _really_ wished the Herald wouldn’t wear the ‘you kicked my puppy’ look, because he was _far_ too good at it. He certainly looked like her _—_ his dark hair, worn long with the sides shaved, and his green eyes _—_ but the similarities ended there. While Iris resembled their grandmother in stature _—_ small and slim with narrow shoulders and strong legs _—_ Xander was all their father. Taller than anyone there by at least a hand’s breadth and as broad as a tree, he dwarfed the massive greatsword on his back. The dark facial tattoo brought out the strong lines of his chin and jaw; his nose would have been classically masculine if not for the crooked line where it had been broken. An ugly scar peeked out of his armor, running from his neck and over his collarbone, disappearing into his clothes. Another crossed his right eye, bisecting his eyebrow. She idly wondered where he’d gotten them. 

He was so familiar, and yet, a stranger. A small part of her (very small. Miniscule. Tiny. Barely measurable, by most standards) wanted to fling herself into his big arms and hold him until she couldn’t anymore. The other part of her, the rational part, didn’t recognize him. She only knew intellectually that he was her brother. And then, that small, dark bitter part of herself reminded her that he _wasn’t there._ She was in the same place for _fifteen years_ and she hadn’t heard from him once. Her parents may have been as warm as a Satinalia swim, but at least she’d heard from them. At least they _wrote._ At least they cared, if only to make sure she stayed put and minded her place. 

Not _once._ Not once had she heard from him. She felt the cold betrayal in her chest turn into red-hot rage. So she chose to ignore him. 

He must have sensed her resolve, because he sighed deeply; “Well, you seem in capable hands, so I will leave you with Alyx. I’ll let our Commander show you around and get you set up in a tent whenever you’re ready. Dorian, Alyx, if I could meet you at the War Table in an hour?”

Alyx rolled her eyes petulantly, but Iris nudged her in the ribs with her elbow; “Fine. In an hour, Herald.”

Xander flinched visibly at the title before shuffling off. Iris crinkled her nose at him before turning back to Alyx. She heard Dorian make a comment behind her that, if Xander _was_ her brother, she didn’t want to interpret before making his way to what could only be a tavern. 

“So, Alyx,” Iris sighed, glancing after Xander’s rather massive retreating figure. “What do you make of the Herald?”

Alyx snorted under her breath; “Not sure. No one’s that _precious_ without working some sort of angle; especially in _our_ family.”

“So I shouldn’t trust him?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Alyx replied, though her posture was tense. “He _has_ decided to go rescue the Redcliffe mages, despite Emma’s _insistence_ on getting the fucking Templars.”

“Emma?” Iris canted her head slightly. Why did _that_ name sound familiar—it wasn’t exactly common. 

“Oh, another _fucking_ Trevelyan; one of the self-loathing goodie-goodies who actually liked being in the fucking Circle,” Alyx spat vehemently. “You’ll most likely meet her later; just follow the smell of utter betrayal and the sound of condescension and you’ll find her.” Alyx shook herself violently and looped her arm through Iris’s, her whole demeanor changing to one of forced cheer. “Want to come drink with me? The bard isn’t the worst I’ve ever heard, and the drink is only _slightly_ terrible.”

Iris rolled her eyes; “Something tells me what you call ‘slightly terrible’ is going to be akin to drinking fire.”

“Well, your affinity for fire shall protect you, then!”

“I think I’ll pass this time,” Iris said. “Maybe I should speak to this Commander? Do you know where he is?”

“You should know I’d trust that man about as far as I could throw him, but I suppose if you’re curious, follow the sounds of swords clashing and sweaty men grunting and you should find him,” Alyx answered, gesturing in the direction of the training yard. Iris’s eyes immediately fell on the tall man in the furred mantle, barking orders. 

_The illustrious Commander, I presume?_

“I’ll come get you before I go to the War Table. I think you should be there,” Alyx offered. “Have fun. Don’t get lost!”

“Please,” Iris countered. “This whole village could fit into Ostwick’s _Harrowing Chamber._ I’m pretty sure I can handle ‘find the man with the biggest sword’.”

“I _bet_ you want a big sword!” Alyx shouted, far too loud and drawing the attention of every soul within earshot.

“ _Alyx!”_ Iris felt her face flushing. 

“Hey, no judgement!” Alyx began backing towards the tavern. “You go _get that sword_ and you _swing it!”_

“Alyx, weren’t you going to get a drink?” Iris whirled away from her friend, stalking across the compound and thankful for the cool air. It served to reduce her flush. Deciding she couldn’t look at a sword in that moment without turning the most unattractive shade of red, she chose to wander instead, making her way towards the back of the village. 

Haven was tiny and muddy; Iris wasn’t sure that the snow would melt even in the summer. The largest building was the chantry at the aft of the settlement, and it seemed the forces of the Inquisition were largely separated into tents, with what few buildings they had being delegated to essential tasks. It seemed to be mostly occupied by civilians and soldiers in the plain-but-practical Inquisition uniform. There were a few Mages running around, which soothed her a bit, though they paid her little mind. She heard a hard woman who called herself Threnn giving a list to a woman who could only be one of the Tranquil; Iris gave herself a shake. She’d had no idea what happened to the Tranquil when the Circles fell, and even with her misgivings about the Herald himself, she had to acquiesce in his willingness to give them shelter and work. It seemed to be all they cared about. A chill that had nothing to do with the bitter air worked its way up her spine. 

On the lower level, nearer to the gates, she saw winding paths leading into the forests. She squealed aloud, drawing the arch gaze of a beardless dwarf in red, when she saw a nug take off into the trees. She’d have followed if she wasn’t too terrified of never finding her way back and freezing to death on the mountainside. ‘Here Lies Iris, She Loved Nugs Too Much and Died Trying to Catch One.’ One of the runners argued loudly with the merchant, uncaring about the people who milled about around them. What surprised her the most was the diversity of the citizens of Haven; the Herald seemed to have collected anyone who would pledge to his cause—humans, elves, dwarves and even a giant Qunari almost as broad as Iris was tall, it seemed—but even more surprising were the number of _normal_ people. Sure there were Chantry sisters and soldiers, Mages not part of the Rebellion (like her, she supposed) and even Templars (though they set her teeth on edge, they didn’t bother her) but the sheer number of believers was staggering. It wasn’t a huge amount, but Iris could see why the various Thedosian factions were wary of the heretical Inquisition and its potential influence. 

She pushed through the massive gate, back where she started, and once again looked for the tall, fur-mantled figure she’d seen earlier. He certainly wasn’t difficult to miss, particularly in the way he carried himself. He was obviously life-long military, if the set of his broad shoulders was to be believed, though his stance was casual, his _posture_ radiated the sense of readiness she had come to associate with Templars and soldiers. But he wore no colors or sigils, and the way he dealt with the two Templars speaking to him was nothing more than cool dismissiveness with the occasional bark to the skirmishing trainees. 

Iris approached cautiously, careful to skirt the edges of the real-steel training until the commander waved the Templars off with another bark to his trainees. 

“You there!” he shouted; Iris jumped at the sudden sound. His voice was clear, but deep. The sort of voice that sent _sinful_ thoughts to her brain, and that thought only magnified when she saw his _face._ “There’s a shield in your hand; block with it!”

_Oh, that face._

Iris had never given much thought to attraction in the Circle—too often could it be used as a weapon—and she’d never seen a male-formed Desire Demon in her days, either. But she figured if one existed, he would look like _this._ Sharp cheekbones with a strong jaw, perfect almond-shaped dark eyes and surprisingly-boyish blond curls—he was the traditionally handsome, lantern-jawed hero from fairy stories of romance. She tried not to look at the perfect bow his lips made (and failed _not_ to think of the filthy things she could do to _that scar)_ and make eye contact, but that seemed counterproductive when warm amber glittered in the sunshine. 

_Oh, Maker give me strength._

“You must be Iris,” he said smoothly; he didn’t smile, though he wasn’t unkind. There was something about his demeanor that spoke to _years_ of unpleasantness, and she suddenly found herself wanting to unwrap this man like a Maker forsaken present. “The Herald told me about you.”

“I got here less than an hour ago,” Iris answered archly. “I already have a reputation?”

The Commander chuckled; it was a low, rusty sound that suggested disuse; “He told me you might seek me out. I’m supposed to get you set up, but as you can see if I take my eyes off them for a moment…”

“They stop using their shields for their intended purpose?” Iris retorted. 

“Yes, I suppose so, though they do enjoy hitting each other with them,” he continued dryly.

“Works out stress,” Iris countered with a shrug. “Though I can think of better ways to do that.”

He suppressed a snort behind a gloved hand, though he blushed to the tips of his ears; “Maker’s breath… apologies. That was… inappropriate.”

Iris canted her head; “It’s… not a problem. I’ve shown myself around Haven, and this is… quite the operation you have here.”

“It’s not mine,” he said darkly. His whole demeanor shifted somewhat, and now he appeared uncomfortable. “The Herald has put this together; I just command his armies.”

“The Herald,” Iris muttered, narrowing her eyes back towards the Chantry. “So this is his Inquisition, then?”

“We don’t have a formal leader, yet, but considering he’s the only one who can close Rifts, he has been the de facto face of our operation, I suppose. By sheer necessity, if nothing else.”

“What do you think of Lord Trevelyan?” Iris asked, suddenly curious. The Commander spoke of his Herald with such easy respect that bordered on camaraderie; it would behoove her to get another perspective. 

“I trust him,” he replied shortly. “Though it seems he is set on the Rebel Mages, at this point.”

Iris gave the commander a sideways glance, suddenly curious; “And you don’t agree?”

“I just think the Templars are a more known quantity,” he answered shortly. 

“So you would abandon the mages to their fate,” Iris snapped, a little more brusquely than intended. _Focus, Iris. Breathe._

“No, I don’t disagree with his logic; we can’t leave the mages in the hands of a Tevinter Magister. Why? Do you support the Mages’ cause?”

“Of course,” Iris rejoined. “They just want to live as free men and women; what’s so wrong with that?”

The Commander gave her a dark look; “I have… known men who paid the price of Mages’ freedoms.”

There was obviously a story there. Iris, spitting in the face of good sense, suddenly wanted to hear it; “Forgive me, but I just can’t see mages holding people _prisoner._ ”

He shuttered up so tightly—so _suddenly_ — it was almost jarring. The Commander stiffened, looking at the missive in his hand without really seeing it; “Apologies, but I must return to my duties. I will have Ser Rylen set you up with sleeping arrangements. Excuse me.”

While he walked away at a smooth pace, something about the way he fled from her spoke of sprinting, if he could. She wasn’t sure what happened, but she was sure she wanted to know more. An intriguing mystery, that one. 

So caught up was she in her musings, she jumped when she felt Alyx’s hand on her elbow. She whirled on her cousin and balked at the wintery gaze she shot after the commander; “So, now you’ve met Cullen. I can see that curious little look on your face, but be careful around him. He’s… not a good man.”

_So his name was Cullen._


	5. Chapter 5

An hour after Xander had gone to investigate the trouble at the gate, Emma went to the Chantry to await his return. The denizens of Haven gave Emma a wide berth. She was used to it, frankly—people who supported Mages saw nothing but the sword-sigil on her breastplate and people who feared Mages saw nothing but the staff on her back and the grimoire at her hip. Before the events of Kirkwall, she’d resented the idea, but now? Now she understood—she was a monster. She was a demon in human skin with power no singular person should _ever_ be able to wield. A Mage in Kirkwall had killed thousands, including the Grand Cleric, and had almost brought the wrath of the Divine _and_ Starkhaven descending on the city, but the Champion had famously kept the situation under control. Emma had seen the devastation when her team had been called to Kirkwall—even now, she felt a fist of ice close over her heart. 

_Ser Ulrich…_

Emma swallowed her tears. Xander would be convening the meeting at the War Table any moment, and she had to be composed if her plan was to work. The Herald and yes, even that walking cliché, Alyx, were correct. They couldn’t leave an enemy like Tevinter on their doorstep, particularly in Redcliffe. King Calenhad had once famously said Redcliffe was the heart of Ferelden, and no one who hadn’t first taken the famous castle had ever succeeded in conquering the nation. This Magister was _in_ the castle, and they couldn’t leave him there. But the Templars… her brothers were falling victim to an outside force and she knew it. Something was _very_ wrong, and Emma intended to get to the bottom of it. 

The doors to the Chantry burst open, and the Herald approached flanked by his advisors. Alyx and another girl were right behind him—Alyx seemed the slightest bit unsteady on her feet—and behind her was a tall, dark young man with the most outrageously waxed mustache she’d ever seen. They certainly looked an intimidating sight, and once again, Emma considered badgering Xander about the Templars. The Commander and the dwarf seemed to agree with her, at any rate. 

“Emma,” Xander greeted, extending his arm. She took his forearm in a friendly clasp. “I wasn’t expecting you for the meeting.”

“I have something to run past you,” Emma replied. “I wanted to be at your War Table; I may have a compromise.”

“Well, I love compromises,” Xander replied easily. “We have some introductions to make, so we should convene at the Table.”

“Of course,” Emma said; despite her easy exterior, she remained constantly aware of the new Mages’ presence. She didn’t like it.

“Emma, you met Alyx earlier, and you remember Iris,” Xander indicated them with a wave of his arm, though his nonchalance belied the gut-wrenching grief in his eyes. “And this is—”

“Dorian of House Pavus. Most recently of Minrathous,” the mustached man interjected floridly. “My goodness, she’s lovely.”

“A cousin of mine, serah,” Xander said with a warning tone. “One I remember from when she was in diapers. _Vividly._ ”

“She has nothing to fear from me,” Dorian placated, his hands up in front of him. 

Emma wasn’t paying attention; her gaze had fallen on Iris, her cousin who she hadn’t seen since they were girls. She’d grown up splendidly, but those freckles and her uncle Edward’s bright green eyes were unmistakable. Emma’s eyes flickered over to Alyx, and suddenly the pieces fell into place. She could have kicked herself for not noticing earlier…Xander’s comments made a lot more sense now that she could place her. Alyx was actually her Uncle Gregory’s oldest, Jacqueline. From what she heard, she’d started going by Alyx soon after entering the Circle. She idly wondered why...

“So back to the issue at hand; Master Pavus has some unfortunate and grave news,” Xander began, his tone quite dire. “Dorian, you have the floor.”

“Thank you, Herald. You are too kind,” Dorian said, stepping forward slightly. “Alexius—the Magister of whom I’ve warned—used to be my mentor, so my assistance should be invaluable. As you can well imagine.”

“Quit speaking as if you’re expecting applause!” Emma snapped. Consorting with a Tevinter was setting her teeth on edge. She tried to push out the endless tirades of the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander.

_Tevinter represents everything Andraste fought against. They are evil. They are the reason for the Circles. They are evil. To conspire with Tevinter is akin to blasphemy. They are evil._

“Emma,” Xander chastised. “Go on, Dorian. Why assist us against your mentor?”

“Someone had to warn you,” Dorian replied darkly. His whole demeanor changed suddenly, and Emma stood at rapt attention. “You must know there’s danger; that should be obvious without my presence. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the Mage Rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes?”

Dorian started pacing; he’d drawn every eye in the room, and each soul was silent as a Chantry mouse. Xander heaved a great sigh, but indicated for Dorian to continue. 

“Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted _time itself!_ ”

“That’s impossible!” Emma exclaimed. 

“For once, I agree with the Templar,” Alyx interjected. “That sort of magic is impossible.”

“Oh, impossible magic,” Xander quipped, though there was no mirth in it. “I hope that’s less dangerous than it sounds.”

“More,” Dorian rejoined. “The Rifts around Redcliffe? You closed some of them while you were in the area.”

“They were strange,” Xander acquiesced. “They seemed to… speed things up. And slow them down.”

“Yes, twisting time itself around them,” Dorian explained. “And soon, there will be more, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world.”

“Herald, you can’t possibly _believe_ all this,” Cullen muttered. “This is madness.”

“I agree with the Commander,” Emma replied. “The whole world seems to have fallen into some sort of state of ‘impossible’, but time magic? The world’s top magical minds have been researching it for Ages and never _once_ gotten further than basic theory; it just can’t be done.”

“You _are_ asking me to take a lot on faith,” Xander said, turning to Dorian.

Dorian bristled visibly; “I _know_ what I’m talking about.”

Alyx suddenly stepped forward; “I can vouch for Dorian, Herald. You can trust him.”

“I trust you, Alyx, which I suppose is enough,” Xander sighed. “But… Dorian, how do you know so much about this?”

“I helped develop this magic,” Dorian answered flatly, as if he was explaining why water was wet. A collective silence rippled over the table, and even Alyx appeared shocked. Dorian bowled through, not allowing room to question. “When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I _didn’t_ understand was why he was doing it; ripping time to shreds to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“You _didn’t_ understand?” Leliana piped in suddenly; Emma started a bit. She’d forgotten the Spymaster was there. “So you do now?”

_Of course she picked up on that subtlety; she’d make a poor Spymaster if she didn’t._

“A friend of mine informed me,” Dorian answered, his smirk wavering just slightly. “Felix. Alexius’s son. He told me Alexius has joined a cult; Tevinter supremacists who call themselves ‘Venatori’. One thing is for certain—whatever he’s done for them, he’s done to get to you.”

“Why would he rearrange time _and_ indenture the Mage Rebellion just to get to _me?_ ” Xander asked. 

“You can close the Rifts,” Dorian mused. “Maybe there’s a connection? Or maybe they see you as a threat? I love my country, and Alexius means a great deal to me, but cults? Time magic? _Ripping a hole in time when there’s already a big hole in the sky?_ Madness, I tell you.”

“All this for me? And here I didn’t get Alexius anything,” Xander leaned heavily on the table, a tight smile on his face. 

“Send him a fruit basket; everyone loves those,” Dorian shot back, though his voice was gentle. “You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.”

“Of course there is a trap,” Cullen mused, rolling his eyes. “But we don’t have the manpower to take the castle; either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go and get the Templars.”

“I agree with the Commander,” Emma interjected. “They are a more well-known quantity.”

“Of _course_ you would think that,” Alyx snarled. “Leave your own kind to burn so you maintain your golden throne? Why am I not surprised?”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but Redcliffe Castle is a fortress,” Emma growled. She could feel her magic flicker and crackle at her fingertips, and the temperature of the room went down a few degrees. _Breathe. Control. Just breathe._ “If Alexius has dug in, we may never get him out.”

“What about King Alistair and Queen Lynn?” Iris offered, her eyes wide. “Surely, they could offer Ferelden’s forces, and the Queen could bring what remains of the Cousland army.”

“Bad idea,” Cullen muttered. “If Alistair finds out his hospitality has been taken advantage of, it could get ugly in a hurry. The last thing we need is a protracted siege near a civilian population—especially one such as the refugees. Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden—it has repelled thousands of assaults.”

“I may have something,” Josephine countered. “We received a letter from one of Alexius's aides a few days ago, inviting Lord Trevelyan to Redcliffe _by name._ ”

“The letter is so complimentary, we are certain he wants to kill the Herald,” Leliana offered. 

“We ignored it as an obvious trap, but considering this new information—”

“No,” Cullen snapped flatly. “If the Herald goes into Redcliffe Castle, he _will_ die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these Rifts!”

“To say _nothing_ of Xander’s life,” Alyx hissed. 

“There has to be another way in,” Xander groaned. “An escape route; a servants’ entrance. _Something._ ”

“Well,” Leliana tapped at her lip, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. “There is an escape route for the family; it’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen countered. “Those agents will be discovered before they can reach the Magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana said. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants?”

“Focus their attention on Trevelyan, while we take out the Tevinters,” Cullen murmured, mulling the idea over. 

Emma assessed the plan; it was _mad._ There was nothing stopping Alexius from killing Xander on the spot, to say nothing of wards or guards in the hidden escape route. She raised her eyes; “It’s risky, but it could work.”

“Fortunately,” Dorian input like he’d been _waiting_ for his opportunity. “You have me; your spies will never get to Alexius without my help, so consider me a part of your team for this at least.”

“Are you sure about this, Xander?” Emma asked. “This plan puts _you_ in the most danger.”

“I have no choice,” Xander responded gravely. 

“Then about the Templars—.”

“I’m sorry, Emma, but my decision is final,” Xander replied. 

“I understand, Xander,” Emma placated. “Which is why I was going to ask if I could take a team and get the Templars myself.”

“Excuse me?” Xander blinked at her, his bafflement adorable if a bit disconcerting in a leader. 

“You are right; the Mages need to be retrieved. We can’t in good conscience abandon them. But something is deeply wrong with the Templars and—.”

“You mean other than what was already wrong,” Alyx murmured under her breath.

Emma shot Alyx a dark look and bowled over her jab; “I would like to investigate on my own..”

Xander sighed deeply, though there was a touch of relief; “Thank the Maker; we have a solution. Emma, I don’t want you to go alone, though. Assemble a team and work with Cullen to come up with a plan.”

“What?” Alyx exclaimed. “So that’s it! You’re going to divide your resources to help the bastards who _started_ this?” 

“The Mages are just as much to blame for this mess,” Cullen growled.

“Of _course_ you would think that!” Alyx shouted, the thin smell of ozone filling the air. “It’s not like mages are _people,_ like you, right? You’ve seen how _leniency_ is rewarded?”

Cullen visibly paled, his eyes so wide the whites were visible all around the iris. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but it wasn’t anger. It was shame, disgust and… _fear?_

“Hey!” Emma rejoined. “Back _off,_ Alyx. This way we’re both getting what we want.”

“Fuck _off_ , Templar _bitch,_ ” Alyx hissed vehemently. Lightning ran up and down her arms, jumping over the metal clasps on her rough gauntlets. 

“Shall we take this _outside_?” Emma growled, desperately trying to keep the Blizzard that _begged_ to be unleashed at bay. 

“Sure,” Alyx said, her grin a little too wide, too menacing. “More space to wipe the floor with you.”

Emma stormed out of the War Room, Alyx hot on her heels. A cold gust blew behind her, tossing the hair around her face, sending papers and maps scattering. While the Herald and his advisors dove to recover the valuable intelligence, Emma stomped out of the Chantry into the Courtyard; she whirled on Alyx, who was seething. Literally _seething._

“What is your _problem?_ ” Emma snapped, keeping her arms crossed. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw a couple of men in Templar armor suddenly find the Chantry courtyard infinitely fascinating. 

“ _You’re_ my problem!” Alyx shouted. _Oh, so it’s going to be like that._ “Why the _fuck_ do we need the Templars, anyway? What’s your deal? Couldn’t sleep at night knowing your _utter betrayal_ went to waste?”

“So because you disagree with them, we leave innocent men to perish?”

“You could say the same for the Mages!”

“We _need_ the Templars, Alyx!” Emma pleaded. “Look at what happened in Kirkwall! There were more abominations than any one person should count! They were _dangerous.”_

“You think they fucking _wanted that?”_ Alyx shrieked. “They didn’t have a choice! This fucking system—your precious fucking Templars—drove them to it!”

“Meredith Stannard was wrong,” Emma shot back. “But you need to give the Mages some _fucking_ responsibility; they looked a demon in the eye and said ‘yes’ out of what? Desperation? ‘Oh, the poor oppressed apprentice becomes an actual _monster_ to earn their freedom!’ That is _weak,_ even for you, _Jacqueline!”_

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Alyx said coldly, and drew her arm back, calling lightning to her hands. Emma shored her barrier, drawing her Spirit Blade hilt from her belt. 

_Oh Maker forgive me, we’re actually going to fight._

Emma never once in her life thought she would be thankful for a Fireball, but when one crashed down between the fighting Mages, licking up against Emma’s barrier, she instantly felt the tension defuse. 

“That is _enough!”_ Iris shouted, heat radiating from her outstretched palm. “The fighting ends now! Like it or not, we are _all_ allies in this. We’re all mages, and we’re family! Shouldn’t that mean something!”

“Family!” Alyx laughed coldly. “Don’t let the staff or grimoire fool you! She is a Templar through and through—she threw our people into dark cells and left them to starve for her own fucking protection!”

“That isn’t true!” Emma defended. “You have _no idea_ what my life was like!”

“Well you should have tried out the Kirkwall Circle! You would have _loved it there,_ with it’s tiny, solitary cells. No light or air or _warmth._ And I was one of the lucky ones; at least I wasn’t raped or _made Tranquil._ ”

“I would not diminish your experiences, Alyx,” Emma growled, feeling the panic swell in her chest at the _memories._ Nearly being kicked to death by older Recruits and Trainees; being run out of the classroom by unruly, anti-Templar Apprentices; the handsome recruit with the kind smile and cruel laugh as he pushed her into the lake in full armor... “Don’t you _dare_ diminish mine!”

Emma was humiliated by the tears in her voice—her hands physically shook. Iris almost looked… sympathetic. Or was that pity? Emma spat a curse under her breath before storming away, making her way for the recruits’ tents. She would cool off, and then she would speak with Cullen. She had an assault on Therinfal to plan. 

~~~

Aside from tagging along with Alyx to the war table meeting discussing the virtues of Mages vs. Templars, Iris had kept to herself her first few days in Haven. She spent most of her time alone in her tent with her books. All too often, venturing out into Haven put her within view of the Herald. Xander. Her _brother_. Despite the icy exterior she often attempted to adopt, it seemed nothing stopped him from trying to approach her. Whenever she saw him approach, she would find somewhere else to be, always doing her best to avoid looking at him. His eyes were so familiar, given they were the same ones that stared back at her in the mirror. 

After three days of avoiding him, it seemed that he had finally gotten the hint and she had a blissful day of wandering without having to look over her shoulder. Alyx had tried to convince her to join her and Sera in the tavern for drinks with Bull, but Iris was never one for drink and knew that she would end up under the table while the three of them laughed at her. That was not the sort of position she was looking to be in after only a short time. So instead she stayed in her tent for the night and read in relative peace, until Alyx stumbled in quite drunk and passed out next to her.

Iris needed to talk to Alyx about the drinking; the dreams it seemed to cause kept Alyx in almost constant movement as she slept. Iris glowered at the heap of blankets on the floor; her eyes burned and she felt like she _could_ sleep, but every time she almost drifted, Alyx would roll and murmur something quietly. It didn’t seem as though she was having a nightmare, and even if she was, Iris could do nothing to help. She had learned early not to rouse Alyx from sleep, no matter how dire it seemed her travels into the Fade were.

_Well, she will be out for a while._

Iris watched the light of the Breach play against the canvas of her tent, feeling her heart throb in her chest. It was _real_ , and it was frightening. A hole into the Fade… The idea was as fascinating as it was terrifying. She sighed deeply—she wasn’t getting anywhere as far as rest was concerned—and tossed off her blankets, wrapping herself in her cloak and wandering out into Haven proper. It felt… odd after the activity of the afternoon; the only sound was the occasional shuffle of a night guard’s boots on the snow. 

Iris turned towards the edges of Haven, wandering the border near the meandering paths that led into the trees. The sky would have been dark and clear if not for the gaping wound above the mountain. The magic in her blood sang, instinctively reaching for its very source while she was also physically repulsed. 

_And so is the Golden City blackened with every step you take in my hall; Marvel at perfection for it is fleeting; you have brought Sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world._

She shuddered—it was the first tale many young apprentices learned; how the Magisters of old brought their evil to the Golden City, turning it Black and bringing the Blights. No human she’d ever met had physically walked in the Fade, as close to the Black City as anyone could get, and lived to tell about it. And yet her _brother_ had done it, coming out with not only his life but also a magic mark and a blessing of Andraste… supposedly. If he didn’t put her off so badly, she would have interrogated him about it by now. She _had_ to know how his recollections lined up with the essays she’d read, the studies of the Fade, and above all the _stories._

But that was the issue; she wasn’t blind, and she could see their resemblance all the way down to the way they shifted their feet when they were idle, but she didn’t _remember_ him. It was obvious he recollected the little girl she was before the Circle, but that Iris didn’t exist anymore. She felt extremely uneasy about the whole situation. The way he looked at her, it was as though he saw someone else, and she didn’t know if she was or could ever be what he wanted to see. Perhaps when the business with the Mages was finished she could request to be sent elsewhere. Surely there were other places she could be of use. 

She gazed at the Breach once more, and wondered off-hand if the night sky would ever be fully dark again. She paced closer and closer to the edges of Haven’s border, until fear froze her in her steps. The pull was too much, and she felt her hair stand on end. 

“Beautiful, is it not?”

Iris near jumped out of her skin, whirling on the oddly-accented voice with fire in her hands; a bald elf she’d seen milling about Haven all afternoon was approaching. His steps were smooth and his manner collected and calm. 

“You are so eager to throw flames at passers by and onlookers,” he continued, the lilt of his voice almost sing-song. “Why is that? What would you do, should you miss and injure someone?”

“I’ve never missed,” Iris growled. “Who are you? Are you following me?”

He didn’t even flinch; “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I noticed you admiring the Breach.”

“Not so much admiring as maintaining a healthy distance,” Iris countered, allowing the flame in her palm to wink out. “But I must admit, it is fascinating. Of all the stories I’ve read… I never thought I would see such a tale unfold in real life.”

“I never expected anything such as this,” Solas replied, his gaze fixed on the tempest above the mountain. “Especially not our blessed Herald of Andraste.”

Iris bit her lower lip; “ _Do_ you think the Herald was really sent by Andraste?”

“Do _you_?”

“I don’t know what I think,” Iris mumbled. “All I know is the world could be shaped by him; everything could shift and change and he’s just… he’s just some noble! Not even a Mage.”

Solas quirked his brow knowingly; “Scoff all you like, but posturing is necessary.”

“How do you figure?” Iris inquired.

Solas seemed to ignore her as he let out a deep sigh; “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade and ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes; I’m curious what kind he will be.”

Iris ignored the pointed question, the slightly smug smirk drawing _years_ out of the older elf’s face; “You’ve journeyed into the Fade? Ruins? Battlefields? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I do set wards; and if you leave out food for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

“I imagine you find amazing things in there; like a book being played out in front of you. What’s it like?”

“You seem eager; your Circle typically frowns upon this sort of talk.”

“Are we in a Circle?” Iris retorted, sticking her chin out stubbornly. “I have spent the better part of sixteen years reading Chantry-approved research and stuffy essays about how the Fade is _bad_ and to be avoided. Yet, here _you_ are, ripe for questioning, so _please._ Anything you’re willing to share, I am willing to listen.”

Solas chuckled, shaking his head slightly; “Perhaps another time; it is late, and we have an eavesdropper.”

Iris whipped around, following Solas’s line of sight to an unmistakable shadow; Xander shuffled his feet, a guilty smile on his face. Iris scowled, turning back towards Solas, but the elf had disappeared. She hadn’t even _heard_ him leave.

“What do you _want?_ ” she snapped, crossing her arms and turning her gaze away from him, even if it meant having to look at the Breach. 

“I came,” he began, stopping short, and sighing deeply. She saw him shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye. For such a large man, he didn’t seem confident in his own skin. “I wanted to see you, but you were speaking with Solas. How did you do it? That is the most I’ve heard him speak since I met him.”

“Try speaking of something other than your own ignorance; ask a question or two. When someone wants to be left alone, _leave them alone._ It’s not that hard, Herald,” Iris murmured. 

Now she wanted to punch him, because in that moment he looked so _stricken,_ like she’d actually hurt him. With her words. How? _How_ did he survive the Trevelyan household if he was this… earnest? _What is his angle?_

“Listen, Iris,” he chanced a shuffle closer to her. 

“No,” Iris snapped, putting out her hand. She allowed the sparks of magic to play at her fingertips. _A warning._ “I know you have been following me, and I _don’t_ like it. I don’t know what little girl you remember from over a decade ago, but she doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Iris, I am so sorry,” Xander practically whimpered, hanging his head. “I know things must have been difficult at Hasmal, but I did try to keep my promise. I _tried_ to keep in touch, but… I never heard from you. What was I—”

“Wait,” Iris interjected. “Hasmal?”

“Yes, the Circle where they transferred you,” Xander replied. 

“Herald,” Iris shook her head, suddenly confused. “Xander… I’ve never even _been_ to Hasmal. I grew up in Ostwick; the first time I left was when I came to Highever.”

Xander suddenly looked like he was about to be sick; “You weren’t transferred to Hasmal?”

“Believe me, I of all people would remember something like that.”

He narrowed his eyes and pulled back his lips in an honest-to-goodness snarl. He looked… well, he looked terrifying—fiercer than he’d seemed since the moment she came to Haven. 

“Lord Trevelyan?” Iris asked, her hands twitching like she _might_ reach out to him. “Xander?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” he growled, pulling his arms well out of her reach. He turned from her, and the line of his shoulders spoke of more than tension, but actual _rage._ “If you don’t mind, Iris, I would like to meet with you first thing in the morning. I’d appreciate your expertise in Redcliffe. You should get some sleep.”

Without waiting for an answer, he stalked away from her, leaving her alone. 

“Why did he think I was in _Hasmal_?” she asked the open air.


	6. Chapter 6

Xander stood over the massive oak table, looking at the many maps and documents his advisors presented to him without really seeing them. He was sure the meaningless squiggles and lines were very important to the goings on of the complicated operations they were planning, but between his terrible sleep and a tumultuous storm of new emotion he wasn’t entirely familiar with, he found his concentration lacking. Emma and Cullen were poring over a map of Therinfal, quietly discussing the ins-and-outs of the old Seeker fortress, while Dorian was consulting with Leliana about the escape route from Redcliffe Castle. Josephine was bandying about the possibility of involving King Alistair and Queen Lynn, despite the risk, when Leliana let slip that she was _the_ Leliana who had travelled with the Hero of Ferelden and the King for a time during the Fifth Blight. There was even talk of involving the Trevelyans—if four sons and daughters of the House were involved, there was a chance the Inquisition could get some serious clout with one of the largest houses of the Free Marches. 

Emma, of all people, had put a damper on the plan; “Not all of us are on the best terms with our parents. Besides, legally speaking Iris, Alyx, and I aren’t holding members of our family anymore—we have to surrender any claim to our houses when we’re taken to the Circle.”

“I thought you were on good terms with Uncle Leopold,” Xander countered, speaking for the first time since he’d convened the meeting. 

“I am,” Emma replied. “My sister just married a Hercinian noble, so she’ll be unlikely to want to rock the boat, considering how religious Hercinia is. I’m not sure where Erik—my twin—is, exactly. He’s hard to pin down; my eldest brother, Gerhardt, is likely in Therinfal—”

“So that’s why you’re so bent on getting the Templars?” Alyx interjected. “Your _brother_?”

“Partially,” Emma answered smoothly, though there was a tightness around her eyes that was hard to identify. “That leaves Father and Mother to manage the main estate, and if I remember correctly, I am the only Trevelyan present on good terms with her parents. Or am I wrong?”

A pall settled over the room; Xander could see Iris shift nervously, and Alyx had death in her eyes, though for once it didn’t seem to be directed at Emma. Xander thought of the betrayal he felt deep in his heart; he wanted to hate his mother and father _so much._

“Right,” Emma said shortly, though there was no judgement in her voice. “I think Cullen and I can finish up the plan for Therinfal. At this point, we really only need to know who’s going where. You can’t take everyone.”

“I suggest teams of four,” Cullen offered. “With a small vanguard along with the soldiers and Leliana’s agents, that should be enough. The Herald and his team need to move quietly.”

“I agree,” Leliana said. “Lord Trevelyan, do you have any suggestions?”

Xander visibly cringed at the use of his title, if Leliana’s arched brow was anything to be believed. He looked over the plans once more, making a few calculations. He knew Dorian would set him on fire if he was left behind, after the fuss he’d made, and Xander could take more punishment than most. Sera would be best if things went tits up (it wasn’t like there would be actual negotiations she could ruin, and if he knew her half as well as he thought he did, she would leap at the chance to turn Alexius into a pincushion given the opportunity) and that left one vacant spot. He considered taking Iron Bull or Cassandra, but something told him he wanted them going after the Templars, and unfortunately as diplomatic as Vivienne was, he could see her presence making things worse. 

His eyes flickered up, settling on Iris. Ignoring the tug of guilt once more, he sighed deeply, pushing his hand through his hair; “I will discuss with my teammates who will be going where. In the meantime, we should be prepared to leave for our respective missions first thing in the morning. If the rest of you are prepared, I say we’re dismissed until then.”

“Of course, Herald,” Emma answered, straightening from the table. Cullen looked a bit put off and Leliana arched her brow further; Xander was eternally grateful for her interruption. If he never saw one more map of Redcliffe castle or layout analysis of Therinfal Redoubt, it would be all too soon. “I will submit my team request when I have what I need.”

As the advisors filed out, followed by Dorian, his cousins and Iris. He scowled to himself, counting to ten before following them out into the courtyard. He saw Iris follow Alyx and Dorian to the tents; Alyx had seemed agitated for the past two days, and he made a note to himself to check in on her when he got the chance. He started his way towards the tavern—nothing stopping him from indulging in one ale before he started asking people if they wanted to risk their lives fighting a crazed Magister—before a soft shout stopped him dead. 

“Xander!” Emma called, falling in step next to him. She wasn’t wearing her Templar plated robes, which made her look remarkably small. “I was hoping to tell you who I was planning on for my team; I figured I could get your approval first to make sure you didn’t want to take them instead.”

Xander tried straightening his shoulders, finding the task surprisingly difficult; “What did you have in mind, Emma?”

Her brow furrowed a bit, showing obvious concern, but she blessedly said nothing about it; “I was hoping for Iron Bull and Varric, but if you need them, I can ask Blackwall—”

“No, it’s fine, Emma,” Xander interrupted, holding out a hand to stop her. “Iron Bull and Varric wouldn’t be a bad idea, but if I may make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” Emma replied. 

“Take Alyx with you too,” he said. 

“What!?” Emma fairly screeched. “Why?” 

“I think she could be valuable,” Xander answered, though of course he had his reasons. Alyx and Emma’s tension was palpable; he could see it getting ugly in a hurry if it wasn’t resolved. Perhaps them working together could fix it. 

“Well, that may well be the case,” Emma sighed, throwing a scowl towards the tents. “But I would ask why you would think Alyx would even _agree_ to this?” 

“Emma, you are the leader, here,” Xander replied, resting his hands on her shoulders. He grinned at her, though it felt forced. “It is _your_ job as a leader to get her to _want_ to join you.”

Emma pursed her lips, not meeting his eyes; “Thank you, Herald. So Iron Bull and Varric?”

“So long as they agree to it,” he acquiesced. He brushed Emma’s hair back from her face, and though she stiffened, she didn’t pull away. “If I don’t see you before you leave tomorrow, be safe, alright?”

“You too,” Emma said. “And thank you.”

“Thank _you._ ” Xander sent her on her way with a pat on her shoulder. No sooner had he seen to Emma’s questions, though, a tiny, too-bright voice appeared at his elbow. 

“ _Hello,_ Xander. Fancy meeting you here!”

Xander schooled his features into careful cordiality, which took more effort than he anticipated; “Iris. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering,” she began, her demeanor and face more open than he’d seen since she’d arrived in Haven. “If you’ve picked your team for Redcliffe yet?”

“All I know is Dorian will have my skin if he doesn’t come.” Xander chuckled. “But other than that, no. No plans.”

“I know I have only just arrived and have not pledged myself completely into the service of the Inquisition, but I’d like to do so now. I pledge myself to you, Herald, and ask that you allow me to accompany you to Redcliffe.”

_Oh no. That face. I recognize that face_.

Her eyes were bright, and he remembered a little girl who would use _that face_ to get him to agree to a tea party before a dragon-slaying expedition in the nursery. That was a face that could get him to wear a tiara, if she asked nicely enough. He couldn’t say no to her. He’d honestly hoped to avoid her until he had his emotions sorted, but he couldn’t think of a refusal… even if he could. 

“I thank you for your pledge, Iris Trevelyan,” Xander responded formally. “And I accept; report to me by dawn tomorrow morning prepared to depart for Redcliffe.”

Iris squealed with delight, clapping her hands together with enthusiasm before she seemed to catch herself. She worked her features into assiduous professionalism, though he could see her toes dancing a bit; “I thank you, Herald. You won’t be disappointed; I promise.”

Xander nodded, determined to get away from her as quickly as possible; “Get some rest, Iris. We have a very early morning, and a very long ride.”

“I’ll be snug as a nug… I’ll get some rest, yes.”

Xander bit his lip so hard, he feared it might bleed. He couldn’t help the hopelessly pathetic little chuckle that escaped through his clenched teeth. He also couldn't help but think of the tiny, well-loved stuffed nug in his pack…

_Would she remember?_

~~~

Alyx shoved clothes haphazardly into her rucksack, swearing under her breath as she tried to plan a careful path out of Haven without being caught. It could be easy; the Herald was too busy planning his assault on the Castle and the _traitor_ was occupied with her fool mission to save the Templars. It gave Alyx a good cover.

She never pledged to the Inquisition! She never wanted _any_ of this! She delivered her message, and now she was going to find Grier. Alyx tried very hard not to be angry at Iris; her Grier was always willful, always finding quiet ways to rebel. It’s what she loved about her, but also what absolutely _infuriated her_. Grier could be _anywhere_ at this point, and no matter what the Herald or the Maker or _fucking demons_ did, she was going to catch up with her and they would be together! It would happen if it was the last thing she did. 

She would have to try to find an inn where she could have a message sent, she thought as she tucked her knives into her boots; the plan had been for her to just get the lay of the land in Redcliffe, not to get swept up in the fucking _Inquisition._ There wasn’t time for her to go back to their rendezvous point herself, though, not if she wanted to have a chance of catching Grier’s trail _—_

“Going somewhere?” 

Alyx fairly jumped out of her skin and whirled; Emma darkened the flap of the tent she shared with Iris, and if she wasn’t the _last fucking person_ Alyx wanted to see right now!

“What do you want?” Alyx snarled, barely biting back the _Templar bitch_ that threatened to spill out. She didn’t have time for a fight, as much as she was itching for one. 

“I was actually coming to ask you something,” Emma began cordially, indicating the camp bed. “May I sit?”

Alyx shrugged, growling under her breath; Emma sat despite her silence. 

“Listen,” Emma began, sighing deeply. “I need to apologize.”

That was enough to stop Alyx dead; “Excuse me?”

“No, forgive me. I _want_ to apologize,” Emma continued. She had a small, velvet pouch in her fingers, turning it over and over in her hand. “What I said the other day… it was uncalled for. I have some old biases to work through, and… I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you. I’m sorry.”

Alyx blinked several times; “So… what do you want?”

“I was hoping the apology would soften my request,” Emma sighed. She ran a hand through her long hair, shaking her hand when it caught on a fistful of tangles. It was such a… human gesture, Alyx couldn’t help but be taken aback by it. “I wanted you to be on the team for Therinfal.”

“Oh, you have to be _fucking_ kidding me,” Alyx spat, turning back to her packing.

“I know it’s not your first choice,” Emma pressed. “But… I could _really_ use your help.”

“And why should I help the Templars?” Alyx asked, turning her most vitriolic look on Emma. 

“I understand, believe me,” Emma pleaded. Alyx felt a little tug at how… _earnest_ she sounded, like she actually believed what she was saying. “You want to find Grier. If Ulrich was alive, I would want to do the same thing! I would search every corner of Thedas and beyond if there was even a glimmer of hope of seeing him again! But… Alyx I need you!”

There was a sharp intake of breath that may have been Alyx’s, but she wouldn’t admit it under pain of death. 

“I know you don’t want to go after the Templars,” Emma continued. “But we know _nothing_ about the Breach. What if the Mages aren’t enough? The Templars are… they deal with unknown magic like this by design! Listen, worst case scenario, they do nothing but we’ve saved innocent men from a horrible fate. Best case? They help us with the Breach! We can’t lose, and… please, Alyx. Your abilities... they are astounding, and I need you with me. Please?”

Alyx resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose; she avoided Emma’s gaze, lest she see her waver. It was true; the Breach was a complete unknown. It had occurred to her—however briefly—that the Templars may be the solution here. Now that she knew her brethren would be saved, and Emma was here practically begging for her help…

“Alright,” Alyx sighed. 

“Really?” Emma exclaimed. 

“I’ll head out with you,” Alyx said. “But don’t expect me to like it.”

“You mean to tell me you _won’t_ enjoy assaulting an ancient Seeker fortress, fighting for our lives, possibly for days? Where’s your sense of _fun?_ ”

Alyx looked appalled at Emma’s smug smirk; “Did… did you just make a joke?” 

Emma chuckled, shaking her head; “A poor attempt at one, yes. Thank you, Alyx. We leave at dawn in the morning.”

“Dawn!” Alyx glowered at Emma, though she could tell there was no heat in the gaze.

“Sorry; military training and all,” Emma said. “Oh, I have something for you.”

She handed Alyx the pouch she’d been fiddling with. Curious, Alyx tipped the contents into her hand and recoiled at the palm-sized golden ring with the phial of dark, thick liquid. A golden chain dangled from the end. _A phylactery._

Alyx almost threw it at the ground when a name carved around the outside of the ring caught her attention; _Grier Findlay._

“Emma, where did you get this?” Traitorous tears burned at the corners of her eyes. It was glowing faintly, and it was warm to the touch. If she concentrated, she could almost pretend it thrummed in her hands like a heartbeat. 

“Most of the phylactery stores were taken by the Knight Commanders to the Spire in Val Royeaux, and then later to Therinfal,” Emma explained. “I grabbed as many as I could when I left, and I heard you mention Grier… It’s not exactly a common name. Is it… is that your Grier?”

“Yes,” Alyx whispered, clutching the pendant, fighting the happy-sad tears that threatened to spill any moment. “Yes, it’s her.”

“Well, good. As long as it glows, she lives, Alyx. That much, I promise you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, Emma left her alone. Alyx ran a reverent finger around the edge of Grier’s phylactery; at one point, she would have loathed just looking at it. It was a symbol of the leash the Templars held. Now it was a symbol of hope. 

Grier was alive. 


	7. Chapter 7

“ _Venhedis_ , what is this _awful_ time of day? It’s terrible,” Dorian groused, fidgeting with the tack on the black stallion he had been issued. 

“Did you mean morning?” Xander chuckled, soothing his own charger as his heavy, impressive-looking barding was strapped into place. 

“Maker, is that what you southerners call it?” Dorian replied with a slight smirk. “No _wonder_ we consider you barbarians.”

Iris tried to laugh at their banter, but she could feel her throat and chest constricting. She was beginning to regret asking to come along. It had been a spur of the moment decision, a chance for an adventure. She stared at the horse in front of her and felt like a fool. They were riding, because of course they would be riding horses. Who in their right mind would travel across Ferelden by foot? She eyed the creature in front of her, amazed at its beauty and grace, and equally as terrified by its size.

“Iris? Is everything OK?” Xander was looking at her with those concerned eyes of his, still stroking the steed in front of him like some sort of expert. 

“Will we be riding the entire way?”

Xander chuckled lightly, pressing a light kiss to his horse’s nose before approaching her; “Well, yes. It is the fastest way. Why? You have a problem with horses?”

“I’ve never ridden one,” she mumbled softly.

She was sure that if she’d been Alyx, she would have punched him in the face with the look he gave—it was somewhere between pity, understanding, and amusement; “Of course you’ve ridden. You rode all the time when—”

He stopped suddenly, a dark shadow passing over his face. His big hands clenched into fists before he turned away from her; “I’ll tether you to me. It’ll be easier that way. If you get comfortable going on your own, let me know, and I’ll turn the reins over to you. Excuse me.”

He turned from her, muttering to the grooms, but no longer looking at her.

“Dorian...can you umm help me up onto this thing?”

Dorian shook his head, chuckling with amusement, before cupping his hand for her boots; “You’re a tad hopeless, you know that? If you can’t throw a fireball at it, you have no idea, do you?”

“At least I am aware that there is a big ball in the sky called the sun, and am familiar enough with it to know what time it rises.” 

“Touché,” Dorian murmured, hoisting Iris onto her saddle. One of the Inquisition’s grooms came and tethered her mild-mannered stallion to Xander’s. Dorian appeared… troubled for a moment. “Tell me, Iris… has the Herald seemed off to you these past few days?”

“Off how?” she asked.

“Oh, it just seems,” Dorian began, staring after the stern figure talking with Emma’s team. “When I first got here, I was under the impression he seemed the easy-going sort. He’s been in a right sour mood, and I thought… maybe I was mistaken.”

“He has a lot to think about. Perhaps all the joviality is too hard to keep up with when the world is ending around you,” Iris replied flippantly, experimentally squeezing her mount’s sides with her knees. It didn’t buck her off and break her neck, so that seemed a good sign. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” Dorian sighed. He gave her a completely unreadable look before turning to his own mount. 

“Does the horse have a name?” she asked the groom. 

The young man chuckled, tugging his bridle into place; “Flame, my lady.”

“Ok, Flame, you listen to me; I am very nervous and you seem a decent fellow. So you promise not to buck me off, or take off running for the hills, and I will give you an apple every night. Do we have a deal?”

Flame whickered, shaking his head—ostensibly to dislodge the flies on his ears, but Iris had to believe he was agreeing with her. The groom laughed; “You’ll spoil him, miss. He’s a gentle beast; the Herald himself hand-picked him for you. Said you had a palomino pony when you were a girl.”

“That was...thoughtful of him. I shall have to remember to thank him.” It was a better gesture than the ones he had originally approached her with. After their discussion about which Circle she had lived in, he was not in her shadow so much as before. In fact he seemed to be avoiding her, which she found to be both a relief and an annoyance. How did he go from being so happy to see her again, to barely wanting to speak to her? 

Her thought process was interrupted when Xander returned to mount his charger. The massive steed looked downright normal under his bulk, and with his fine armor and his long hair blowing in the mountain breeze, he looked like the fabled hero of so many stories. All the way down to the tight lines of anxiety around his eyes… 

“Alright, teams, we have our orders. Emma’s team should reach Therinfal within a few days; Leliana’s scouts left late last night and should be in position before our arrival tomorrow to await our signal. Stay close, stay safe, and stay smart. We move!”

Xander kicked his horse into an easy canter, and Iris had no real choice but to follow. Dorian fell into an easy pace beside him, while the elf, Sera, brought up the rear. She even made a lewd comment about ‘the rear’ which made Iris blush to the tips of her toes, but also giggle a bit. Sera seemed to take notice. 

As the sun rose and the day got on, they encountered little in the way of dangers on the road. They _did_ come across a giant bear on the outskirts of Haven, but between Sera’s arrows, Dorian and Iris working in tandem to keep up the heat (again, Sera made comments to that effect) and Xander’s uncanny ability to keep the creature’s attention on him, they took care of it handily with Xander only receiving a mild gash over his chest. It looked awful, but he assured her it looked far worse than it was. 

Another thing Iris noticed was Xander’s mood. After Dorian mentioned something, she couldn’t get it out of her head, but he was right. Even in her limited knowledge of the Herald, he seemed a calm, collected, gentle sort of man without a stern bone in his body. He was the type who came to a decade-lost sister with his heart in the palm of his hand and a smile on his big stupid face and hand-picked a good-natured palomino horse for her to ride because he remembered her riding one when she was a girl. 

Once dusk fell and they made camp, surrounded by the Inquisition agents garrisoning the area, Iris began to regret asking to come along. Or at least, not insisting on walking. She was _humiliatingly_ bow-legged and she felt like she couldn’t sit comfortably again, ever. Thankfully, the novel at the bottom of her bag was just getting to the good part and there was a soft bedroll with her name on it. She tried to move towards the fire to get her dinner, but it seemed her numb bottom disagreed with her. 

“Oh, Maker, I can’t feel my ass!” Iris moaned, trying to straighten into something resembling the posture of a proper young lady, but her body wouldn’t agree with her. 

Sera let out a guffaw of a laugh; “I’ll feel it for you, fancy pants. It’s quite a nice butt.”

Dorian snorted into the mug of tea he was drinking and more than one of the agents milling around the camp gave little titters of laughter; Iris flushed a bit. She was sort of asking for that one. Xander, on the other hand, only had a reproving look for her. 

“Don’t be childish, Sera,” he snapped, barely glancing up from the map he was studying. 

“Oi, what’s got your knickers in a bunch, glow boy?” Sera rejoined. “Since when did you become such a cranky arse?” 

“That’s _enough,_ Sera,” Xander growled, a fierce snarl Iris had yet to see from him on his face.

“Sera, come sit here and tell me more about the Red Jennies; they sound like something out of a book I read once.” Iris said, hoping to defuse the sudden tension around the fire. What was merely suspicion before was confirmed; there was definitely something wrong with Xander. 

~~~

Xander retreated to his tent, barely restraining the urge to throw things. He _did,_ however, kick his pack as hard as he could. The leather sack filled with dry clothes and blankets gave a satisfying _thump_ before toppling over, sending his belongings flying. He hated how _mad_ he was. He rarely got angry; he was usually the type to just let people be, but he felt utterly betrayed. 

_Every week for sixteen years, and I always worried I never heard back. Well, I guess I know why now._

No wonder she hated him. No wonder she didn’t want anything to do with him! He crumpled to the ground, fisting his hand in his hair and trying his level best not to scream and sob into the night. 

“Dammit,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Pull yourself together, Xander, come _on._ ”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. His fucking _mother_ had cost him everything, from his happiness to any future relationship he could hope to salvage with his sister, and he _hated_ her for it, and he resented the twist of guilt in his chest at the feeling. He’d never felt like this about anyone before, with few exceptions, but this? This was real, unadulterated, never-wanted-to-see-her-face-again hatred. He allowed a few tears to run free as he sat, numb, surrounded by the evidence of his short temper tantrum, and before he knew it, it got dark around him. 

As the light outside faded, the camp grew quieter and the fire burned lower. He did, however, notice a tiny ball of light a little higher than the actual campfire. He heard Sera set down her fletcher’s tools and shift towards the little light source. 

“Whoa, that’s freaky,” she breathed. “What’s next? You make it snow in summertime?”

“I’m not very good with ice magic; fire is my forte. I can warm up cold tea though.”

“That is an absolutely _vital_ skill,” came Dorian’s input from somewhere on the other side of the camp. “Though, Sera, I must warn you that this is all coming from the same girl who yelled at me for scaring off a nug.”

“So? Still freaky; holding fire in your hands.”

“Well, let me just say that, in my experience, you have nothing to fear from a girl who berates a stranger for scaring the wildlife.”

“But nugs are _cute!”_ Iris exclaimed. “With their little _noses._ You just don’t understand. I had never gotten to see one so close before, and I know with a little time it would have come right up to me and eaten out of my hand. I could have tamed it maybe. A pet nug; oh, what I wouldn’t give for a pet nug.”

Xander felt that familiar little choke in the back of his throat. He shoved one of his shirts off to the side, his hand coming in contact with the little stuffed nug that he’d carried with him since… well, since Iris had left. She’d been positively _heartbroken_ when the Templars said she couldn’t take him with her, and he’d made a promise… now the pink velveteen skin was gray with age and love, he was worn bald in spots, and one of his button eyes had long ago popped off. 

He stroked along its little back, and wondered off hand if she would remember…

~~~

The ride to Therinfal was hard and fast; they chose the swiftest, sturdiest (and in the Iron Bull’s case, biggest) mounts Master Dennet had to offer and rode at first light. A few Inquisition soldiers had come with her, and according to Commander Cullen, she was scheduled to pick up a few more on the way. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, which, of course, meant everything would go tits-up the moment her feet touched the stones of the old keep. 

The good part of being back on horseback was it felt familiar; she was used to days of companionable silence while on a hunt, or just travelling from place to place. Varric’s occasional complaints of ‘giant beasts under his arse’ punctuated the quiet, but it felt like those days again. Back when her team was around. Fergus would make an off-color joke, Ulrich would shake his head, and Cassius would laugh her loud bark-like guffaws. 

What was unfamiliar was the quiet hostility she felt in Haven. Even in the Circle, as long as she’d had her team, she’d never felt completely alone. And yet, here she was, surrounded by family, and totally isolated. Even now, at their mid-trip campsite, Varric and the Iron Bull seemed to get along, and Alyx had her tentative connection to Grier. She was furiously scribbling on a piece of paper that she immediately shoved out of sight the moment someone passed anywhere near her, and for a moment, Emma had to wonder what she had to hide. She sighed. It wasn’t her place to pry, she supposed.

At first, camp wasn’t so bad. Emma busied herself with coordinating with the soldiers they’d picked up, and then setting wards, and then sending reports back to Haven, but eventually she ran out of things to do and she once again found herself on the outside looking in. The Iron Bull was entertaining people with boisterous stories of fighting off Antivan assassins, cutting down magic trees, and protecting nobles from a dragon; Varric was surreptitiously making notes of the most outlandish and interesting of the tales, and something told Emma she would see these stories again with the names conveniently changed. Alyx still slaved over her writing journal, and Emma figured she would leave her alone with her thoughts. She didn’t regret giving Alyx the phylactery; part of her believed that Alyx never would have come if it hadn’t been for that, although that seemed silly now. 

Emma separated from the camp, going to the very edge of the wards she set. She busied herself with gazing into the forest, her eyes unseeing and glazed. What would happen to her when the Templars were retrieved. Xander called her a ‘leader’, but she was no leader. She was a fraud. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stave off the sick anxiety that rose in the back of her throat. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain, and she prayed for a moment alone, if only to have the dignity of crying in peace. 

However, it seemed she would not get such a luxury. She heard a massive body moving through the trees towards her, and she knew before she even turned it was the Bull. 

“Hello, Bull,” she said brightly, turning towards him. She hoped the tear tracks on her cheeks could be chalked up to allergies. “How can I help you?”

The massive Qunari didn’t ask, nor did he engage her in cordial banter, as she’d expected; but he did gaze at her with that pretty grey eye that saw too much. He canted his head at her, giving her a discerning look that cut through her like a knife. 

“Why are you crying?” he asked. 

“I’m not,” Emma began around a traitorous sniffle. “I’m not crying.”

“Sorry, but that’s horse shit,” he rejoined. “Do you know how disheartening it can be for men to see their leader run off into the woods to cry by themselves?”

“I hadn’t… I didn’t think about that,” Emma replied, though she couldn’t keep the venom out of her voice. She visibly flinched at the word ‘leader’.

“You don’t consider yourself our leader,” Bull said. It was not a question. 

“No,” she murmured, trying to keep the catch out of her voice. There wasn’t any point in lying to him, she supposed. 

“Is that why you’re crying?” 

“Sort of,” Emma answered, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. How to explain… “I guess I’m just overwhelmed. I was never the leader of my team; that was… that was Ser Ulrich.”

“What happened to him?” Bull asked easily, betraying none of the burning curiosity that she knew was there. 

“Dead,” she deadpanned. “He was at the Conclave.”

Bull, blessedly, said nothing, though he did rest a big hand on her shoulder. The weight was comforting, which she found odd. His familiar calluses rasped against the sensitive skin of her neck. She felt a traitorous keen of affection as she unconsciously leaned into the touch.

“That’s not what you’re on about, though,” he said. 

“No,” Emma replied, finding it remarkably easy to be honest when she knew dishonesty was out of the question. It wasn’t exactly trust, but it was certainly a start. “I’m not qualified to lead these people. At all.”

“The Herald told you to lead us,” Bull offered. 

“He did,” Emma agreed. “But… But, Alyx—”

“Don’t get caught up in her,” Bull interjected. “Listen, she has been through some shit. No saying you haven’t, but you dealt with it in different ways. You’re more reserved than she is; her whole worldview is based on compartmentalizing. She is in the Mage box, and Templars are in the Templar box, and you don’t fit in either box, so she gets mad.”

“I guess,” Emma sighed. “I never thought of it that way.”

“You asked her not to diminish your experiences,” Bull said. “Least you could do would be to do the same for her.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” Bull interrupted. “Maybe not in the way she has, but you have, in your own ways. From what I heard, Kirkwall was hell. For everyone.”

“I know,” Emma replied, feeling a bit defensive. 

“Do you?” Bull arched his eyebrow at her in a gesture that was shockingly Leliana-like. Emma supposed it was easy to forget this mountain of a man was, in fact, a spy. 

Emma toyed with her hair, shifting from foot to foot. She didn’t know how to answer, really, because she _hadn’t_ been in Kirkwall. Not until after the Chantry explosion, when she was just helping clean up and healing wounds. Even then, she was sure the flaming-sword sigil on her breastplate was the only thing saving her from the ire of the citizenry. Every day, she tried to forget her tour through the Gallows. Each identical door, with identical locks, with what amounted to a doggy door to slide a tray of food through at the bottom. She hadn’t seen into the cells, but they were so tightly packed they couldn’t be large. 

_Alyx lived in one of those?_

Emma sighed deeply and turned to the Iron Bull with an incredulous smirk; “You are _very_ good at that, you know?”

Bull shrugged companionably; “Trust me; you’re not a difficult one, Princess. Come here.”

One advantage to his sheer amount of bulk, she supposed, was Bull gave the best hugs. He enveloped her with arms that were just the right side of too tight and lifted her bodily before separating with an affectionate pat on the back. 

“Better?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Emma replied. “Thanks, Bull.”

“See you back at camp, then,” Bull said, turning to head back. “We have a templar fortress to take tomorrow.”

“I suppose we do,” Emma chuckled. After a moment, she turned back to him. “Bull… ‘Princess?’”

Bull gave a chuckle of his own, deep and throaty and comforting; “We all give each other nicknames under the Qun; anyone as fussy with their hair as you can only be a Princess. Why, you hate it?”

Emma snorted; “You know I don’t.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Therinfal Redoubt; just as dour as I remember._

“It just screams ‘I hate fun and kick puppies,’ doesn’t it?” Varric said dryly. Alyx huffed, her scowl seemingly etched onto her face.

“Oh believe me, it’s worse on the inside,” Emma retorted with a shudder. She could hear it even from their location on the drawbridge—the song—as it resonated with the lyrium in her blood. It was wrong— _dissonant_ — and yet, so enticing. More so than the strongest of the normal stuff. They dismounted, handing their steeds off to the young groom who’d accompanied them. Cullen’s troops fell into step behind their party.

Emma had expected resistance at the gate; perhaps a forward party? Archers? Boiling oil, maybe, depending on how dramatic the Lord Seeker was feeling that day. But no—the only soul outside was a young knight-lieutenant with whom she’d served before. He stood at military rest, despite his full armor.

“Knight Enchanter Trevelyan,” he greeted amiably.

“ _Ser Barris!”_ Emma exclaimed, resisting the urge to throw herself in his arms. “What are… you doing out here? The Lord Seeker—”

“I’m the one who sent word to Cullen,” Barris interjected. There was a tension around his eyes she couldn’t identify. “He said the Inquisition works to close this Breach in the Veil. I didn’t realize you’d bring… such well-armed company.”

“Barris, you must understand,” Emma entreated, trying to catch those golden eyes as they flickered over the troops she’d brought. They fell on the three people flanking her—the massive Qunari, the dwarf, and the fellow mage (who, knowing Alyx, was probably glaring daggers right about now). “The Lord Seeker… after Val Royeaux, I couldn’t stay here. Not in good conscience. Not while the world was at stake!”

Barris swallowed hard and audibly, and Emma put her hand on the center of his breastplate in hopes of perhaps...comforting wasn’t the correct word. He smiled softly, regardless, before the strained disquiet settled in once again; “Your association with the Inquisition has brought with it the promise of influence and status. It has garnered interest from the Lord Seeker. Beyond sense. The sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls to action until you arrive!”

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, allowed a disgusted noise to slip past her grit teeth; “He does realize that is a _rip into the Fade_ hanging above our heads?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Alyx growled. “Fucking _Templars_. I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it.”

Bull tapped Alyx on the shoulder, shaking his head in a way that didn’t seem outwardly warning, but his good eye clearly said _shut up._ Emma gnawed on a knuckle while Ser Barris quirked his brow at the party.

“The Commanders say he’s… ‘considering’ the situation. Maker knows _how_ ,” Barris sighed. “The Lord Seeker’s actions make no sense! He promised to restore the Order’s honor, and then marched us here to wait? Templars should _know_ their duty, even when held from it!”

Alyx snorted derisively. “How fucking refreshing. You Templars and your precious _duty_.”

Emma ignored her. Something was very wrong.

“Win over the Lord Seeker,” Barris continued, shooting Alyx a suspicious look. “And every able-bodied Knight will help the Inquisition close the Breach.”

“I’ll try my best, Ser Barris,” Emma assured him. “It’s why I am here.”

“I’d tell you your chances,” Barris mumbled, rubbing at his temples. He’d gone too long without Lyrium—maybe a week?—and it showed. _What the fuck is going on?_ “But the Officers have been a mystery lately. We’ve been asked to accept much after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Emma promised, patting his arm through his pauldrons. “Shall we?”

Barris turned towards the gate, giving a silent signal to an invisible attendant. The ancient portcullis creaked and groaned open, revealing the inner courtyard. It was somehow _more_ dismal than Emma remembered, and she wasn’t sure how that was possible.

“I don’t like this,” Bull growled. “Too easy. This is a defensible fortress—he could have dug in here for weeks if he wanted to; made us fight for it. He’s just throwing open the gates?”

“I hate to state the obvious,” Varric interjected. “But he seemed to change his mind about us awfully quickly.”

“Attack of conscience?” Alyx suggested flippantly, though there was a weak tremor in her voice—genuine fear? “I hear it happens once or twice in an age.”

“Not with the Lord Seeker,” Emma muttered darkly.

“The girls agreed on something!” Varric exclaimed, though a heated glower from the aforementioned girls shut him up immediately.

Emma followed Barris into the courtyard, and Alyx stiffened so quickly, Emma could practically sense it. Bull’s stance _screamed_ of readiness, even if his huge frame appeared easy. It was a subtle shift. Varric, on the other hand, glowered in the direction of the main entrance, and Emma knew exactly why. She could hear it, stronger now. Andraste’s sweaty arsehole, she could practically _smell_ it. The song… the Lyrium—that was all at once familiar, enticing, foreign and repulsive, permeated the place. Like rot. Like mold.

Like Blight.

Emma did a quick count and knew at once more Knights had arrived since she’d left, and there was unease through the keep. Fully armored Templars crowded into the courtyard, wandered the ramparts, and spilled from doors, and despite being hidden behind visors and helmets, _all eyes_ were on them. Emma could feel it. Next to her, Alyx was throwing nervous glances over her shoulder, and Emma could see a slight tremor in the hand not wrapped tightly around the hilt of her Spirit Blade.

She hurried her pace to stand beside Ser Barris, who was leading her to a trio of gears on stone pedestals. Three standards on three pulleys.

“Is this necessary?” Emma sighed. She knew the ritual.

“The Lord Seeker has requested you perform the rite,” Barris explained.

“What is it?” Varric asked.

“These are the Standards,” Emma explained. “An honored rite centered on the Maker, the Order and the People. I have to choose the order in which to raise them, and it shows to which group I show the most loyalty.”

“Trevelyan, you _know_ that’s not how it works,” Barris sighed, but she could see how _very much_ put upon he was. It was an old ritual—a formality—and every Templar knew it well.

“Alright,” Emma growled, stomping up to the wheels. She knew at this point she would have preferred a protracted siege. She couldn’t handle this… waiting for the other shoe to drop. Alyx was jumpy, which in turn was making the Knights jumpy. It was never a good combination.

Emma raised the Standards—the People, the Order and then the Maker. The Maker was at the heart of the Order; and by serving the Order they served Him and thus the People. _It’s what Templars are supposed to do. Serve, not hide out in a castle while the world falls to shit._

A murmur ran through the courtyard, and if Barris was surprised, he hid it well; “Traditionally, one then explains their choices.”

“Maker’s breath, Barris, you know why!” Emma snapped. “Every Templar _here_ knows why! Are you satisfied, now that the Lord Seeker has asked me to shuffle flags around?”

“Apologies,” Barris replied gently. “The Lord Seeker awaits; follow me.”

Emma gave a toss of her hair; she suddenly wished she’d tied it in its customary knot, but all she’d had the patience for that morning was a quick tail that hung long down to between her shoulder blades. She felt a smug thrill when it smacked wetly against the armor of a particularly priggish Knight that had given her and Ulrich trouble once upon a time. She heard the quiet buzz of hundreds of voices as the Templars mumbled amongst themselves. She felt a tiny sliver of hope under her anxiety; maybe she could leave with a few Templars today, after all, no matter what happened next.

She saw the Inquisition soldiers subtly get into position while she followed Barris into the main building. The sudden darkness was certainly preferable to the rain, even if it wasn’t much warmer. Unfortunately, Emma realized too late she would prefer the rain to the antechamber they had adjourned to. It was too quiet, and a man with the vestments of a Knight-Captain was descending the stairs, flanked by too many Knights. His movements were twitchy and unnatural.

“Knight-Captain?” Barris helpfully supplied.

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker,” the Knight-Captain (Emma knew his voice… a nasty, scrabbling piece of work named Denam) jeered. “He sent me here to die for him.”

“Knight-Captain,” Emma began, though her hand hovered over the hilt of her Spirit Blade. “Forgive me, I am Knight Enchanter Trevelyan; I have come on behalf of the Inquisition. As you can see, they command great numbers, and we would like to offer the Templars the opportunity to be a part of that.”

Emma knew an enchanter from the Montsimmard Circle that could talk the robes off a Grand Cleric, and for once in her life, she wished that enchanter was with her now. She felt so helpless, especially when Denam’s dark chuckle echoed in the near empty room.

“This is the Grand Alliance the Inquisition offers? Ha! Too bad you ruined the Lord Seeker’s plan by arriving with purpose, Trevelyan. You would have made a fantastic Jester.”

“Purpose?” Emma snapped, not bothering to hide her sudden draw of her Blade. The comforting grain of her staff beneath her fingers was a grounding force. “Explain, Knight-Captain! Where is the Lord Seeker?”

“Your arrival,” Denam drawled. “Both of you… cousins of the fabled Herald of Andraste? It sowed too much dissent.”

Almost as if on cue, a cacophony of pain and torture and _battle_ rose up around her, and underneath it all was the too-sour sound of _the song._ Red Lyrium. She knew it by the line of Varric’s back.

“Knight-Captain, I must know what’s going on!” Barris pleaded, and Emma fought the urge to pull him behind her. He hadn’t even drawn his weapon, the poor, trusting fool.

“You were all supposed to be _changed,”_ Denam snapped, rounding on the younger man. “Now we must purge the questioning Knights!”

Emma dropped into a defensive stance; the mechanical sounds of Bianca’s arms, the soft slide of metal in a sheath, and the tell-tale static of Alyx’s magic told of her team’s readiness, and not a moment too soon. What faces she could see of the men who’d accompanied the Knight-Captain were grotesquely tainted. Too-dark veins ran under their skin, disappearing into armor, and all the while, glowing red eyes shone through the slits in helmets.

Emma barely got her barrier up fast enough before a volley of arrows collided against it. She felt it strain in the area—she tried to hold it for everyone, all her allies, but it wasn’t enough. She felt it slip as the tainted Templars descended on her and her companions. She knew it when she heard the too-familiar clank of heavy plate behind her.

“The Elder One is coming!” Denam shouted madly. “No one will leave Therinfal who is not _stained red!”_

Emma felt her barrier break the moment the sick sounds of sharp swords plunging into the Knights she had hoped… it didn’t matter now. Their blood stained the stones as they collapsed to the ground in undignified heaps. By the time Emma was able to get her bearings, Denam was at the door.

“Maker’s Breath!” Barris swore, drawing his longsword, hefting his shield in trembling hands.

“We must test them,” Denam mocked. “The Lord Seeker will _see you now._ ”

Emma had to ignore him. She _had to_ , because suddenly she was beset on all sides; Alyx was shouting at the top of her lungs and her hair was standing on end. Bull brandished his massive axe, swinging it in huge arcs that caught on Tower shields and Bianca’s bolts were driving into breastplates with hollow sounds, but . The real surprise, though, was the way Emma and Alyx moved.

Suddenly, all animosity between the girls was gone, and they worked like a well-oiled machine. Alyx allowed her Spirit Blade (if that volatile, sparking, vicious-looking blade crackling with lightning could be called a Spirit Blade) to unfurl, striking through the chest of an archer Emma froze into place. In the next moment, a Knight stepped on Emma’s Ice Mine, and with a flick of her wrist, Alyx shattered the man with a well-placed lightning bolt. Emma kept her barrier shored as Alyx moved through the remaining tainted Templars like a war ram. Arrows bounced harmlessly off of her while Emma kept people off her back with her own Spirit Blade.

As quickly as it began, it was over. Alyx toed one of their victims onto his back; when his mangled face became visible, her mouth popped open in a silent scream, turning white as a sheet.

“What the _fuck_?” she shouted, scrambling away from him, nearly tripping over his discarded shield.

“Red Lyrium,” Emma intoned gravely. “They ingested Red _fucking_ Lyrium.”

“Why in the name of the Maker’s blue ballsack would they do that?” Varric spat.

“No idea,” Emma replied. “We should… track down the Lord Seeker. Question him about this ‘Elder One’. Barris, report! The Knight-Captain?”

“Among your victims,” Barris said, kneeling over a mostly-broken figure. “He’s alive, but barely. He’ll survive if you use a healing elixir; not sure he deserves it, though.”

“I’d keep him alive,” Bull said gruffly, wiping blood of his face with a flick of his wrist. “Might have something useful.”

“And you could draw it out of him?” Emma asked, her voice dark and sinister, even to her.

“Don’t underestimate Ben Hassrath interrogation,” Bull rejoined. “Give me a few hours with him, and he’ll sing like a canary.”

“Then heal him,” Emma ordered.

“Here.” Barris held out a ring of old copper keys. “The Knight-Captain’s keys. I will try and find the loyal knights while you seek out the Lord Seeker.”

“Thank you, Barris,” Emma said, taking the keys and heading towards the door leading to the barracks. “Bull, Alyx, Varric, let’s move!”

The shouldered through the lower barracks, slipping on damp stones as a few corrupted Templars erupted from the shadows. Alyx and Bull disposed of them easily, the wet sounds of their skulls crashing against the stones echoing through the chambers. Emma led the way up the stairs, following the sliver of light at the base of a door; it must be the way out.

“Prepare them!” a loud, booming voice echoed… everywhere, somehow inside her ears and her head and bouncing off the stones. “Guide them to me!”

“Was that the Lord Seeker?” Emma asked, whirling around, her staff brought to bear.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Varric helpfully offered.

But the look on Alyx’s face, the look of abject terror and suspicion confirmed it. They _had_ heard the Lord Seeker’s voice just then. But only them; Bull and Varric didn’t seem to hear it. Bull shouldered through a door, which splintered under his bulk, to a group of Templars in the yard. Emma wanted to join the melee, but she focused on maintaining the barrier around her comrades. Over and over, she heard the Lord Seeker, and every time, she saw Alyx flinch at the same time. And over and over, Bull and Varric seemed oblivious.

_You will be so much more!_

_Show me what you are!_

They nearly crumbled under the assault; Barris’s loyal knights took some of the pressure off, but there were so many! She nearly sobbed when she came across the body of a man whom she’d known since her apprenticeship, when they were both children with practice swords and books instead of staves and blades.

_Traitor. You’re a murderer! They were your brothers and sisters!_

“I knew him!” she wailed, hugging herself around the middle. She fought tears; bit her lips so hard, the coppery taste of her own blood flooded her mouth. She hated herself for coming here. It would have hurt less to just abandon the Order, or die as one of the dissenters. It would have been easier…

She felt a huge hand on her back, surprisingly gentle, all things considered; “Hey, Princess. Pull it together. Lock it up. You can’t fall apart right now.”

“There’s _so many,_ Bull,” she protested, feeling a little sick and horrified at the spatters of blood on her hands. “I knew these men.”

“I know,” he said. “I get it. It hurts. But you have to. It’s your job.”

Emma took a deep, shuddering breath, trying and failing to get a rein on her emotions; “OK. I can do this. OK. Lord Seeker. Find Lord Seeker Lucius.”

“Good girl,” Bull said with a pat on her back. “Remind me to teach you a Qunari exercise when we get back to Haven; works wonders on shit like this.”

“You got it, Bull.”

“I hate to interrupt, but we have incoming!” Varric called. “And I would bet every scrap of gold I ever won from Rivaini that those steps lead to the Lord Seeker.”

They pushed through the fray, Barris’s men holding the line, and started up the stairs. As they ascended, the song grew louder. Emma had taken a spray of crystals from one of the big Behemoths, more Lyrium monster than man, and one had blown past her armor, embedded in the soft skin under her ribs. Every breath was agony, but she had to keep going.

_Emma Trevelyan, Alyx Trevelyan, it’s time we get better acquainted. Show me what type of women you really are._

She could see him, stark in front of a lurid red curtain, his armor dim in the rainy light. Alyx charged ahead of her with a mighty cry, and for once, Emma couldn’t be bothered to try and stop her. She hurled herself up the stairs, but only when it was too late did she spot the trap. Lucius whipped around, almost inhumanly fast, and fastened his hands around their throats, pulling them forward.

_“At last!”_

With a burst of green fire, the world turned a blinding white.

The instant her sight came back, Emma found herself in a place at once familiar and foreign. Alyx stood next to her, appraising her surroundings with hard eyes.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Emma replied, gazing around the chamber. It was circular, with high ceilings and vaulted arches over the doorways. She recognized the smooth stones, the padded benches, the tapestries that fluttered over the bare expanses of wall. She drew in a sharp gasp. “Alyx, I think this is the Ostwick Harrowing Chamber!”

Alyx whirled towards Emma, her expression wild and furious; “ _What?”_

“Alyx.” Emma pointed with a shaking hand at the _corpses_ —frozen in place by ash, fire licking from their permanent screams of pain and agony. She recognized these horrors—the remains from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. “I think… I think we’re in the Fade.”

“No _shit_ we’re in the Fade!” Alyx snapped, though her voice wavered, taking out a lot of the bite.

“Look!” Emma exclaimed, pointing at two figures—a young woman in Mage’s robes with dark, thick, shoulder-length hair; and a young man in Templar armor with tawny hair and grey eyes and a kind smile. She didn’t know the woman, but the man was unmistakable. Ser Ulrich… she felt her heart twist in her chest. “No… he’s dead!”

“Dead?” Alyx gasped, her eyes flickering to the woman staring, unseeing, into the middle distance. “Then does that mean Grier…”

_So this is Grier…_

She didn’t have time to contemplate this fact as an impossibly tall, broad figure sauntered between Ulrich and Grier. Emma instantly knew he was amiss, because she’d never seen that look of slick, ugly, _want_ on Xander’s face. Especially not directed at _her._

“Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?” he purred, his voice tinged with something dark and sinister. “It doesn’t matter— _everything_ tells me about you. So will this… watch.”

He smoothly drew a dagger from his belt, a wicked thing that Xander would never carry, and pulled Grier against his chest. He brushed a long finger, almost lovingly, against her pulse point, before pressing the blade against the delicate, unmarred bronze skin.

Alyx made a strangled noise in the back of her throat; “No!”

“Stop, Alyx!” Emma hissed. “It’s not real!”

Xander, or the thing using his shape, smirked before drawing the blade smoothly over Grier’s neck; “It’s not real!”

Alyx’s breathing began to quicken, and if they didn’t get her back under control, she would hyperventilate. But Emma focused; she’d dealt with something like this before. It mimicked her, it would use her reactions to learn.

“Alyx.” Emma took Alyx’s hand in hers. “Alyx, snap out of it! That’s not Grier! You’re a _mage!_ You know this!”

“Sweet Emma,” a sickeningly familiar voice whispered in her ear. _Ulrich._ “Oh, sweetheart, being you will be so much more _interesting_ than the Lord Seeker.” Xander was gone, and that thing used Ulrich’s hand to caress her cheek in a hauntingly familiar way. “Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You’ll see… when I’m done, the Elder One will ascend. Then I can become you!”

“Why would you want to become me?” Emma snarled, whirling on the demon. She tried to look it in those grey eyes, expecting them to be cold or stony or _wrong_ in some way, but the resemblance was uncanny. “I don’t run the Inquisition! Neither of us do!”

“No,” the demon conceded. “But you are close to the Herald. When I am you, he’ll die, and then _I_ can be Inquisitor.”

“Who is this Elder One?” Alyx snapped.

Ulrich was behind Alyx in the blink of an eye; “Between things. Mortal once, but no longer.” He circled around her, holding her gaze in a way that screamed of condescension; Emma thrilled at the little spark of rage in Alyx’s eyes. Rage meant she _fought_ her fear. “Glory is coming, and the Elder One wants you to serve like everyone else—by dying in the right way.”

“Yeah?” Alyx spat, looking into Ulrich’s warm eyes with defiance. “Keep talking then.”

Ulrich’s face twitched, and he was gone again, only for Grier’s form to rise smoothly from the ground. Her smooth, musical voice was filled with rage, and her beautiful face was still spattered with blood; “I am not your toy! I am _Envy,_ and I will know you!”

She flickered over to a shadowy image of Alyx, wavering and eyes glowing; “Tell me what you think! Tell me what you _feel!”_ She drove the dagger—the same dagger from earlier— into the shadowy Alyx’s stomach with an unforgiving twist. Alyx doubled over in pain, her shadowy doppelganger collapsing to the floor.

Emma felt a sudden weight in her hands; she dropped the wicked-looking dagger, drenched with Alyx’s blood, in surprise. Alyx looked at her with betrayal and pain in her eyes.

The shadowy form of Alyx moaned at them from the floor; “Tell me what you see.”

“Alyx,” Emma said, smoothly and calmly. “This isn’t real.”

“I know it isn’t real!” Alyx snapped. “I knew it wasn’t real the _first time_ you told me! Still hurts like a bitch!”

“Listen, Alyx, I know you want to be mad right now, but we’re in danger. This is an Envy demon, and it will use our reactions to learn; it won’t tempt or offer or deal. It does not trade—it takes. So we have to be… very careful.”

“Ok, so how do we get out of here?” Alyx asked, finally straightening and removing her hands from her unwounded stomach.

Emma pointed at the arched doorway leading to a shadowy nothing; “We go forward.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Back in the Hinterlands; how far you have come Iris._ She thought to herself bitterly. Freedom. She had finally been free to maker her own choices--live her own life. Yet, here she was; following her long lost brother through the very terrain she had traversed weeks ago. _No. Don’t think of him that way. It will only lead to trouble._

Xander’s mood had lightened, but not by much. His carefree nature would come out at times when Sera would crack a joke, or when Dorian would fuss about the amount of dirt everywhere. Yet, whenever his eyes met hers, a dark cloud would pass over. _It’s for the best; you were never going to be what he was looking for. Whoever you once were...she doesn’t exist anymore._

“Iris, do you think you can handle him on your own now? We will be reaching the village soon. It might look a bit better if you weren’t tethered to me,” he asked her suddenly, breaking her from her musings. Truth be told, she had been wanting to have full control of the horse for days, but had been too shy to ask. _You’ve also been too shy to talk to him beyond a few cursory words. What would be the point? He’s family in blood only._

“Yes,” she answered, tightening her knees on Flame’s flank. “I think he and I have an understanding of one another.”

“Good, I’m glad,” he said with a smile that vanished when she gave one in return. _What? I can’t even smile at him?_ Once Flame had been released, Iris took it upon herself to urge him forward at a steady pace, keeping Xander out of her view long enough to compose herself. _That’s what you get for trying, you silly girl. Just like the letters home...they never made a difference; why would that change now?_

_Because now there’s no Templars to take me away..._

“I wouldn't be so quick to let her off the leash. There are nugs about; she may very well take off after one,” Dorian teased. Iris stuck her tongue out at him and flipped her head in the most lady like fashion she could muster. Her response garnered a snicker from Sera, yet seemed to make Xander only slightly less grumpy.

When they approached the gates, Iris wondered to herself again if she would have been better off just joining the mage rebellion instead of following Dorian. _What, and end up in servitude to Tevinter?_ None of it mattered anyway, there was no way this mission would be a full success. Xander could not possibly hope to come out of this unscathed. He had to know he was being presented as a lamb to the slaughter.

While she lamented the loss of a comrade, he still saw her as a little sister, and she would just never see him that way. She didn't remember him beyond a vague sense of familiarity; there must have been a time in her life when she loved him, but she was a very young child when her magic had manifested. The Knight Enchanter, her cousin Emma, seemed to be the only one younger. She couldn't associate him with happier times, no matter how hard she tried; her family would always invoke cold memories of bare-minimal interaction. Did she have what she needed? Was she taken care of enough to not want to run away? Then Lord and Lady Trevelyan couldn't give a Mabari's ass if their daughter contacted them or not.

Dorian parted ways with them before they reached the village; he would be using the secret pathways along with the scouts. His appearance would have only served to alert Alexius to the trap at hand. _A trap within a trap; that’s the plan. Will it work?_

The castle sat high upon a hill surrounded on all sides by Lake Calenhad, a single pathway leading to the hold. Iris could see why it was an impenetrable fortress; only one way in, and only one way out. The thought that this was a one way trip for Xander itched at the back of her mind, despite all her attempts to shake it away. 

They were escorted to the throne room where Iris could see a roaring fire had been lit. It seemed the magister prefered to meet in near dark--how cliche. An attendant greeted them as they entered and for a moment, insisted Xander enter alone. He brushed away the suggestion immediately and made it very clear he would go nowhere without them. Iris felt a chill go down her spine the closer they got to where Alexius stood; he was flanked by a younger man whose features favored his, and an elven woman who could only be the Grand Enchanter.

“Lord Trevelyan, I am so pleased you answered my invitation...and welcome to your associates...as well.” His voice sounded jovial but his smile was forced, his eyes cold and calculating. “I understand arrangements are needed for my assistance in the matter of closing the Breach?”

“Are we mages to have no say in deciding our fate?” the Grand Enchanter spoke out and Iris pitied her. To have come so far in trying to gain freedom for herself and all her people, to end up leashing herself anyways; it was a sad truth.

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” Alexius responded, his cool demeanor hardly flinching from the sudden outburst.

“If the Grand Enchanter wants to be part of these talks, then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition,” Xander said, extending a welcoming gesture to Fiona. She nodded and gave a muttered thanks.

“The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?” Alexius asked, his fingers tented in a pose that suggested he felt he was the one in control. Iris tried to feel confident in her brother, but between the low light and the feeling of dread, she could not ignore the icy chill that continued to drip down her back.

“Nothing at all. I’m going to take the mages and leave,” Xander replied with such a frankness to his tone that Iris felt herself relax for a moment. If he could walk into this viper's nest and not lose himself, then she could too.

“And how do you imagine you will accomplish such a feat?” Alexius responded with no more change to his attitude than before.

“He knows everything Father,” the young man standing next to him declared, breaking the standoff.

“Felix, what have you done?”

“We made sure to disarm your trap before we came in. I hope you don’t mind,” Xander riposted.

“I’ve yet to see your cleverness, I’m afraid. You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don't even understand, and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake,” Alexius snapped, his polite tone and demeanor forgotten in the wake of the realization that all had not gone according to plan, at least not his own.

“If you know so much, enlighten me. Tell me what this mark on my hand is for?” Xander quipped back.

“It belongs to your betters; you wouldn't even begin to understand its purpose!”

“Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?” Felix pleaded.

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” Dorian interjected, timing his arrival perfectly. Of course. 

“Dorian,” Alexius said his name with an aura of finality. “I gave you the chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“What's better than turning back time?” Xander added flippantly; Iris wasn’t fooled. She could see now that he was using humor to mask his nervousness. Was he crazy? How was cracking a joke going to get them out of this mess?

“He will make the world bow to mages once more! We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas!” Alexius had become fanatical in his rantings. _This is why people fear us. This is why they lock us away._

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona cried out.

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen! Why would you support this?” Dorian countered desperately.

“Father, give up the Venatori. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach, and let's go home,” Felix begged.

“No, it's the only way. Felix, he can _save_ you!” 

“Save me?” Felix spat, scowling venomously. 

“There is a way, the Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple…” Alexius paced frantically, gesticulating wildly. He was desperate, that much she could see. He was twitching; his hand kept hovering over his pockets. 

“I’m going to die; you need to accept that,” Felix replied, his voice gentle. His face was… sad.

“Seize them, Venatori!” Alexius hissed, ignoring his son. Felix sighed deeply, clearly used to this sort of behavior. “The Elder One demands this mans life!”

She heard it moments before it happened; the slight scuffle of soft boots on stone, before the awful wet sound of blades plunging into backs or dragging across exposed throats. Inquisition scouts (or rather, assassins at this point) sprang out of the shadows, one for each Venatori agent. Iris had to break it to Leliana, but she was efficient and her people were good. Alexius, on the other hand, was backed into a corner. Even if he couldn’t see it... though the terrified tilt to his graying brows showed that he _absolutely_ saw it. 

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” Xander spat, seeming more confident than he had since he walked through the door. 

Alexius’s fear lasted for another breath before desperate vehemence took over; “ _You are a mistake!_ You should never have existed!”

Something was wrong. Alexius lifted one of his spiked gauntlets and it sparked with… strange magic. It felt _wrong,_ and Iris felt like she was being torn apart… like she was trying to be in two places at once. A tiny, innocuous-looking amulet hovered in his clawed fingers, and she could feel it… that awful magic was coming from _it._

_Time magic!_ Iris brought her staff to bear, but she could already tell it would be too late; “Xander!”

“ _No!”_ Dorian shouted, bringing his staff up in a deadly arc. A glowing slash appeared on Alexius’s chest, almost like a sword wound. The Magister recoiled, and for an instant, Iris thought it was going to be okay. 

But it seemed too much power had been poured into the amulet; a strange vortex appeared around Dorian, and stupid hero that Xander had shown himself to be, he threw himself over the other man. The vortex grew, quickly spinning out of control, ripping through the room. That awful feeling of being torn apart crawled along her limbs. It was overwhelming and for a heartbeat, she felt like she might die. 

When the light cleared and she could see again, Alexius stood on the dais alone, and a scorch mark marred the stones where Xander had lain. But her brother was gone. 

“No! Xander no!” she screamed as she fell to her knees. Sera cursed next to her, launching arrow after arrow at whoever came close to them. Iris felt the fire within her come bursting forth and she howled as the flames overtook her. 

~~~

In one heartbeat, Xander was throwing himself over Dorian. In the next, he was knee-deep in icy water. He supposed it was to be expected, but it was still a shock when his leathers soaked through and his feet were numb. As unpleasant as the water was, though, it was helpful when it alerted him to the presence of two figures sloshing towards him. It gave that crucial moment to get his bearings. 

“Blood of the Elder One!” A man in Tevinter-style armor, old and dingy, drew his weapon with an unpolished yank. 

“What?” Xander let slip, almost unconsciously, but of course the man wasn’t going to answer him. He brought his longsword down in a wild swing, nearly cleaving Xander from neck to belly button, but he managed to bring his greatsword to block. With a quick lunge of his powerful legs, he unbalanced the man standing over him, bringing his weapon around in a punishing arc. He cleaved the man across the waist with little effort, and blood and viscera seeped into the dark water, darkening it further. 

The heat and flashes of light out of the corner of his eye nearly stopped his heart; did Iris get caught in the blast!? Was she there too!? He could breathe again when he saw it was Dorian, flourishing his staff with finesse and grandeur. Despite the pomp and circumstance, the man was talented, and had the guard crumpled against the floor with the sick-sweet smell of burning flesh in no time. 

“Interesting,” Dorian muttered nonchalantly, though Xander noted he still gripped his staff in a white-knuckled grip. 

“You have a gift for understatement; I’ll give you that,” Xander muttered, flicking the blood off his blade. 

“Oh hush, you,” Dorian retorted. Xander recognized the technique--focus on your sense of humor lest the fear drive you mad? It was one of his stand-bys. “I don’t think this is what Alexius had in mind… so the rift, what? Moved us to the closest confluence of Arcane energy?”

“Sure,” Xander said absently, shrugging his huge shoulders. His hair was dripping down his back _under_ his armor and that wasn’t exactly… pleasant. “Whatever you say. All I know is last thing I remember was we were in the Castle Hall.”

“Let’s see,” Dorian mused, trying to pace, but thinking better of it when he kicked up huge sloshes of water. “If we’re still in the Castle, then it isn’t… Ah!” Dorian snapped his fingers, looking _quite_ proud of himself. “Of course! It’s not simply where, it’s _when!”_

“OK, you’ve lost me,” Xander replied. “Seems a bit of a leap, does it not?”

“How? It’s what the amulet was designed to do. It seems the most logical conclusion,” Dorian rattled off quickly. He seemed overfond of showing off how intelligent he was, and Xander narrowed his eyes slightly. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus! It moved us through time!”

Xander froze; “What? How far? Forward? Or back?”

“Ah, see those are excellent questions,” Dorian replied. “We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Xander suddenly had trouble getting enough breath; “Oh, Maker! Iris was in there! What if she’s here? What if--”

“Calm down,” Dorian placated. “The Rift wasn’t large enough to transport the room; Alexius wouldn’t risk catching himself or Felix. Something tells me little Iris is standing right where we left her.”

Xander took a few calming breaths, trying to think rationally, but all he could think was his behavior over the last few days. _Andraste preserve me, if I never see her again… she would have died thinking I hated her! I can’t… No!_

“Alright, well, what was Alexius _trying_ to do, if not this?” Xander swept his arm around the room, his posture tight. He tried to resist the urge to clench his fists, or punch the wall. That wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“I believe his original plan was to remove you from time. Completely,” Dorian answered. He must have sensed Xander’s tension, because he was suddenly serious. “If that happened, you never would have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and therefore never would have mangled his Elder One’s plan.”

“So how am I not… erased from time?” Xander asked, his brows pinching together. 

“I think your surprise in the Castle Hall made him reckless,” Dorian mused. “He tossed us into the Rift before he was ready. I countered it, and the magic went wild. Make sense?”

“No,” Xander deadpanned. “But then, I’m no mage. I’m a brute with a big sword; I hit things. That’s what I understand.”

“Careful; you’re starting to sound like that Qunari fellow you keep company with,” Dorian quipped, though the mirth went from his honey-colored eyes quickly. “I shudder to think what this did to the fabric of the world; we didn’t so much travel through time as punch a hole through it and toss it into the privy.”

Xander snorted, laying a careful hand on Dorian’s shoulder; “Alright, Dorian. What’s our best bet?”

“Let’s look around; see where the Rift took us,” Dorian suggested. “Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

Xander felt himself go cold; “What if… What if we can’t? You have a plan, right?”

“I have thoughts on the matter, yes,” Dorian said, a touch on the defensive side. 

“Oh, thoughts,” Xander murmured. “Lovely. Come on, let’s see where we are.”

Xander found a ring of keys on one of the guards they’d killed; he found one that slipped into the lock easily, and he hoped the rest of this little adventure would be this easy. Something told him… not. It would not be. 

One thing was for certain; if the remnants of the dog motifs were to be believed, they were still in Redcliffe Castle. The water was likely coming from the cracks in the foundation from the Red Lyrium growing from the walls. Everything was… so dark. And cold. He shuddered to think how much time had to have passed--how much did he miss?

They came to a row of cells, each one filled with a person or a pile of crystals. The first one held a young woman with dark hair and bronze skin; the unnatural, red aura of the lyrium surrounded her body where she knelt, rocking back and forth. She clutched at something on a chain around her neck, chanting under her breath: _They cannot take her, they cannot take her_. Her eyes were red and fogged, staring forward blankly. She didn’t look up as Xander walked by. 

The next cell had what appeared to be Grand Enchanter Fiona, but… 

“Maker, is that Red Lyrium growing out of her _body!?”_ Xander gasped. His gorge rose, and he had to focus on something-- _anything_ \-- to stop him from emptying the contents of his stomach in the corner. 

“You’re… alive,” Fiona wheezed. Her voice was thin and distorted, and she spoke as if each word caused her great pain and effort. “I saw you… disappear…into the rift.”

“ _Grand Enchanter Fiona,_ ” Xander whimpered. “How is that… how is it possible?”

“The longer you’re near it,” she began, tears cutting through the grime on her face. “Eventually… you become...this. Then they mine your corpse for more.”

“Can you tell us the date?” Dorian pleaded, keeping a pointed distance between him and the bars. “It’s very important!”

“Harvestmere,” Fiona said. “9:42… Dragon.”

“9:42… then we’ve missed an _entire year!_ ” Dorian exclaimed, though it all seemed very intellectual to him. 

Xander felt his panic rise; “I need to go back! I can’t… I need to _go back!_ ”

“Please,” Fiona sobbed. “Stop this from happening! If you can… Alexius serves… the Elder One. More powerful than… Maker… no one challenges him… and lives.”

Xander ground his back teeth together, gripping the hilt of his sword; “This Elder One hasn’t met _me_ yet. Alexius will _wish I died._ ”

“If I can find the amulet,” Dorian offered. “I can use it to reverse the process; send us back.”

“You… must… try!” Fiona pleaded. “Your Spymaster, Leliana… she is here! Find her, quickly! Before the Elder One learns you’re here!”

Fiona’s gasps and gurgles were… they were too much. Xander had to pull away. He couldn’t look anymore. 

_Maker, is Iris here?_

“Whosat?” a distorted, but hauntingly familiar voice called.

“Sera?” Xander walked down a few cells, and sure enough, the tiny blonde archer was waiting for him. She didn’t have crystals growing out of her body, but the swirling red energy from her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

“No, no! No! You can’t be here! You’re dead, and they don’t come back!” she whimpered. 

“I’m not dead, Sera, I’m fine,” Xander replied gently, approaching her like he would approach a wounded animal. 

“No! Stay back! First this shite, and now undead! I didn’t do piss to you!”

“Oh for the love of--” Dorian huffed. “No one’s dead! Alexius used time magic!”

“Talk sense or _shut it,_ ” Sera sobbed. “I can’t think about him. The day he died? I ran out of arrows making them pay. But it didn’t matter… now I’ve spent a year watching… that.”

A pained whimper echoed behind him; “He came back, Mr. Nuggles… he’s back. I told you he would.”

Xander turned slowly, not believing his ears; that was definitely Iris’s voice, but something was wrong with her; “Iris? Iris, is that you?”

“Big brother,” she whimpered. “Xander… it is you… I told him you would… Mr. Nuggles didn’t believe me.”

Xander approached her cell and was nearly sick; he felt himself go cold. His blood pounded in his ears. All that was left of his sister was the left side of her torso and face, the mangled remains of her hand clutching a handful of… _Maker,_ it was her hair! The rest was completely taken by Red Lyrium. Without thought for his own safety, he ripped the door to her cell open. His shoulder protested and his hands scraped on something sharp, but he didn’t care. He dropped to his knees in the filthy cell, cupping the good side of her face. 

“Iris, I’m here,” Xander whimpered, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. He looked for familiarity, but there was something dead inside of her. She didn’t have long… “I’m back. Of course I came back for you, sweet girl. I’ll _always_ come back.”

“Xander, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean… I thought you hated me. Mr. Nuggles said you hated me.”

She brandished the clump of hair weakly at the mention of Mr. Nuggles… the name the beloved childhood toy… she did remember. He supposed it didn’t matter now. 

“I always told you not to listen to him.” Xander tried to make his voice light, but he couldn’t stop the sharp twist in his gut. Her skin was _so cold._ “He always was a bad influence.”

“But you’re here,” she sighed, sounding so unabashedly happy it ached. “I missed you.”

“I love you, Iris,” Xander whimpered. “I’m going to fix this, I promise! I won’t let you… I won’t let it end like this!”

“Wait,” Iris cried as he moved to stand. “Please, Brother, the song… I can’t. It’s so loud… it hurts! Please, don’t leave me…”

Xander settled back onto his knees, cupping the back of her head, swallowing thickly when he felt tiny crystals where her dark curls should have been; “I’ll never leave you, Iris. I’ll stay… until the end.”

He held her as close as he could, reaching into his boot; he gripped the handle of his hunting knife. He had to end her suffering… it wasn’t real. This wasn’t the end… it was a fake future! Iris was _fine!_

With an anguished cry, he plunged the knife between her ribs. Her blood trickled out onto his hands sluggishly, reeking of Lyrium and corruption. He heard her gurgle and her breath escaped; no words or poignant speeches. Just breathing one minute, and not the next. The light had gone out of her eyes… Xander dropped the knife like it had burned him, and he sobbed. He wept, and it felt like it would never stop. It hurt _so much._ He could pretend it was fake all he wanted, but even if he could fix this, he’d just had to drive a knife through his baby sister’s heart. He would always live with that fact.

He felt a soft, tentative hand on his shoulder; “Herald… Xander. It’s OK. It’s not real.”

Xander whipped around, fire and vehemence and _hate_ in his eyes; “It felt pretty _fucking real_ to me, Dorian.”


	10. Chapter 10

Alyx stared at the polished armor of Emma’s back and took a deep breath. This was… oh _fuck_ , this was even more of a shitshow than she had expected. An Envy demon… She clenched her fists, forcing another breath out through her nose. Emma was right; nothing for it but to go forward. She followed Emma through the darkened doorway into the next chamber. 

The next chamber, which… wasn’t a chamber at all? The air seemed to swirl around them as they passed through the door, rematerializing as—

“This is…” Emma said, staring around.

“Kirkwall,” Alyx muttered. Kirkwall as she’d last seen it, on the night Anders blew up the Chantry. The night the Gallows fell. The dust in the air, the charred bodies amidst the rubble, all of it. _This bodes well_ , she thought, sneaking a glance at Emma. 

“We stand triumphant in the destruction of Kirkwall; now we take our cause to the world. If they will not free us, they will learn to _fear_ us.”

That was—that was her voice. 

“What the fuck?” Alyx said, dashing towards the voice. 

Not-her was standing in the rubble where the Chantry once stood, staff in one hand, the other hand raised in a fist as she spoke. Anders stood tall at her shoulder, his eyes blazing, defiant, _triumphant_. _Wrong, all wrong,_ she thought. Corpses in Templar armor littered the ground at their feet, and any who weren’t dead were on bent knees, cowering before them. It was almost believable, if not for the eerie green glow of their eyes, and the absolute _bullshit_ spewing from her shadow-self’s mouth. The triumph on both their faces...that night had not been a triumph. It was a bitter victory at best. 

“The Circles have fallen; now we are free. _Nothing_ can stop us. The world will be _ours_ ,” not-Alyx proclaimed, a cruel grin splitting her face.

“All I want is for mages to be free!” Alyx said. “Do not twist my views, demon. I do not want this. I never wanted _this_ ,” she added in horror, glancing at Emma, who hadn’t said a word since they left the last room.

“Are you bothered by imperfection?

Alyx growled in frustration. “Come on,” she said to Emma, and marched towards the door that had appeared at the far end of the sort-of-chamber.

She stepped forward into… a Harrowing chamber? It wasn’t quite what she remembered from Ostwick’s, and the architecture was wrong for the Gallows, but the layout was familiar enough. 

A table stood in the center of the room, a shadowy version of Emma standing at its head. Alyx froze in dread. Anders was laid out on the table, golden blond hair free from its tie for once, falling in a loose halo about his head; the stench of burning flesh still hung fresh in the air from the shining, red sunburst brand on his forehead. Alyx’s stomach dropped through the floor, and she let out a choked gasp as she looked in horror at his blank, emotionless face. She felt sick.

Anders sat up slowly, walking with the careful, intentional movements of the Tranquil to join the dozens of others like him kneeling before Emma. Not-Emma. Real or not, Alyx seethed with rage, fists clenching at her sides.

Not-Emma turned to address the veritable army of Templars and Knight-Enchanters gathered behind her, the room seeming to expand as they all come into view. Alyx noticed then, with a sickening jolt, that Fiona’s and Lucius’s heads were mounted on spikes on the wall. 

“We must bring all free mages to heel. To circumvent the Rebellion and stop Thedas from becoming Tevinter, you will obey or I will take away your _means_ to kill,” not-Emma said, hands outstretched towards the genuflected Tranquil, grinning at Anders where he knelt before her. 

“I would never do this!” Emma snapped. “This is horrible!”

Envy cackled in response, and the shadowy visions of Emma and her army and the Tranquil faded away with a quiet pop. Alyx clenched her jaw but said nothing, following Emma through the next door. 

The room it opened into was cavernous, split by two rows of columns. A series of statues down the middle of the room and along the columns spewed unnatural, bright green flames. Though they were still some distance away from the first pair of columns, the temperature was already stifling. 

Beyond the rows of columns on either side of the room, their shadow-selves were back, surrounded again by kneeling masses.

“All mages not in the Circle are now deemed Maleficar, and will be put to the brand. The free mages must be brought to heel,” the shadowy figure of Emma shouted to her armies from one side of the room, a sea of Tranquil at her feet.

Not-Alyx stood at the other end of the room, surrounded by mages standing victorious amidst the bodies of countless Templars and civilians alike. “Mages _will_ be free. If the world must burn to see it done, then _so be it_.”

There were so many dead. This was wrong. This was _so wrong_. She would never… _It’s not real_ , she reminded herself. Even if she had these sort of dark thoughts in moments of anger, it didn’t mean she would ever actually do _this_. She remembered Emma’s words from the first chamber. Any reaction would only be giving the demon what it wants. She took a deep breath and turned back towards Emma.

Emma, whose expression was wary, eyes darting back and forth between Alyx and not-Alyx as she took a calculated step backwards. 

“Emma?”

“Would you have done it?” Emma asked, voice even. 

“Done what?” Alyx snapped, impatient.

“The Chantry. This,” Emma said, gesturing towards all the dead bodies at her demon-self’s feet. 

“Emma, _that’s not me_! You said it yourself, the demon is trying to get a reaction out of us! Get a grip!” 

“You were there, though. That night. If it meant your precious freedom, you would have done it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I was there. And do you know what we actually did that night? We ran. We ran for our lives. There were no dramatic victory speeches. Just trying to get the fuck out of that wretched place, because all we wanted was to be free.” 

“We? I thought you left Kirkwall alone,” Emma said.

“I did,” Alyx interjected quickly. “A number of us stuck together for safety until we escaped the city, as the Templars weren’t exactly waiting to differentiate innocent mages from those who’d been driven to blood magic.”

“Innocent? You admitted yourself that you killed Templars that night!”

“Only because they were trying to kill us first, with no hesitation! I did what I had to do to _survive_.” 

“Did you not stop to think that maybe they were doing the same thing? I was there too, in case you’d forgotten. I lost count of the number of abominations we faced!”

“After what I went through in that fucking place, if I thought taking a demon’s offer was the only way to escape, maybe I’d have done it too!” Alyx yelled. Emma didn’t _understand_. No one who hadn’t been in the Gallows could. Sweat dripped down the back of Alyx’s neck, the heat from the incessant flames almost unbearable. 

“See?” Emma cried. “You admit it! If you would let yourself become an abomination just to be free, what wouldn’t you do? You’re no better than Anders!” She spat the name like a curse.

Alyx fumed. “So that part wasn’t a lie, then,” she said, voice dangerously low as she tried to banish the image of that sunburst brand from her mind. “ _Like it or not_ , we are free because of what Anders did. So yes. If it meant no one would ever be locked up in the wretched Gallows again, maybe I would have done it.”

Emma took another step back, drawing her spirit blade. The inferno was practically upon them now, and Alyx winced at the heat searing her skin as she reached for her own blade. 

“Stop!” a voice said. A boy blinked into existence between them, peering at them from under the enormous brim of his hat. “Envy is hurting you; he is making you angry so he can learn. You’re making it worse,” he said, voice gentle despite the hostile atmosphere and the flames licking at his back. “I want to help. You, not Envy.”

“Who are you?” Emma asked, tone still wary, though she’d withdrawn her weapon. 

“I’ve been watching. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Both of you. Or I am. You’re always inside you. But not each other. It makes more sense if you’re outside.”

Alyx stared at the strange boy, trying to wrap her head around what he’d said.

“It’s easy to hear,” he continued, “harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope. Envy hurt you, _is_ hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It’s—it’s not usually like this.”

“Okay… Cole,” Alyx said. “If you can explain this, I’m all ears. How do we get out?”

“It’s your head. Heads. I thought you’d know how to stop it.”

“Well, we don’t,” Alyx retorted. 

“All of this is Envy: people, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Envy wants to wear your faces. He will make you hurt each other, pull you apart, that makes him stronger. Don’t let him. Stand together, and Envy is weakened. Keep climbing. Envy breaks down, you break out.”

“So, we work together, keep going, and we’ll get out?” Emma asked.

“Maybe. I hope it helps. It’s better than fighting with each other until Envy takes your faces.”

“Well, I’ll give you that,” Alyx said. “What about the freaky green inferno?”

“Ideas are loud here. Make them louder. Think of water.”

“Think of water?” Emma demanded. 

Alyx imagined a flood of water overtaking the fiery columns, and… the fire was gone. 

“We’re in the _Fade_ ,” Emma said with an exasperated laugh, blinking in the sudden downpour.

“We probably should have thought of that,” Alyx added.

“We _really_ should have thought of that.”

Envy made himself known again then, growling in frustration; “That thing cannot help you! What are you doing?” he spat, sounding… considerably less collected than he had earlier.

“Ooh, someone sounds a bit put out, doesn’t he?” Alyx said, turning to Emma with a small smirk.

“Shall we move on?” Emma said, gesturing towards the far door, no longer barred by flame.

Alyx nodded, and they crossed the room at a brisk pace. As they opened the door, Envy cackled maliciously and the world went white. Alyx shut her eyes against the overwhelming brightness, only opening them when the light faded again. They were in a prison, dark figures standing around a table in the middle of the room. A body was laid out on the table like a sacrifice, a dagger pinning it to the surface.

“Your petty feud will destroy the Inquisition. You will tear the world apart with your infighting,” Envy said, back to his taunting. 

“Only if you let it,” came Cole’s soft reply. “You can still work together. You are strong, side by side, different but the same. You can beat it. None of this is real unless you let it be.”

“Get out, thing, I am _learning_ ,” Envy snarled. 

“Good one, Cole,” Alyx said, grinning at the ceiling. 

“Come on, there’s a door this way,” Emma said, and Alyx followed her into the next room. 

A long corridor stretched before them. The dark, murky figure of a woman stood before Xander’s kneeling form. Her shape was inconstant, seeming to flicker between Alyx’s and Emma’s appearances, taller one second, shorter the next. 

“We deem you a heretic; take the heretic to the Gallows!” it said in something like Emma’s voice. “Mages will be free; the Inquisition stands in our way!” It continued, sounding more like Alyx. “The Inquisition has harbored rebel mages; the heretic must burn!” 

“He isn’t a heretic!” Emma said.

The thing had both their voices at once now, dissonant and jarring as it began to argue with itself. “All who stand defiant to our cause are heretics! Free mages must be brought to heel. The world will burn if it must! We will be free—”

“You’re confusing it,” Cole said. “Keep going.”

They took off down the corridor, passing rooms with more prison cells. Voices came from the cells, more interrogations, and Alyx couldn’t help slowing down to listen.

“Is it my turn to be branded a traitor for questioning what we’ve become? I deserve it for letting them turn the Inquisition into a butcher’s pit,” said Cullen’s voice. Alyx snorted. The demon was right for once; it _would_ take this level of freaking end-of-the-world bullshit to get that man to grow a pair.

“I wish you would tell me what you want me to confess!” Josephine cried from another cell. 

“I should never have given the mages asylum. They killed her; I have nothing left,” a man sobbed from the next.

“Is that King Alistair?” Emma asked, and Alyx just shrugged. 

They reached the end of the corridor. The wall there was murky, insubstantial almost, like it might blow away in the slightest breeze. 

“Does it think that is going to stop us?” Alyx said, charging right through. A staircase rose before them on the other side of the worthless wall. 

“Stairs. Good,” said Emma. “Cole did say keep climbing, right?”

“After you,” Alyx said, gesturing with her hand.

They took the stairs at a run, and opened the door at the top. The walls vanished and everything went white as they stepped through. 

“Oh, not this again!” Alyx said, shielding her eyes. 

When she opened them again, they were standing in a courtyard. A very familiar looking courtyard…

“This is Therinfal!” Emma exclaimed, eyes scanning their surroundings. 

“Excellent. We know which way to go, then.”

The courtyard was inexplicably full of trees, but otherwise unchanged. They crossed it quickly and made for the stairs. Envy seemed to have given up trying to trick them into revealing themselves to him. The resistance they came across no longer took the forms of people they knew; only a few shades stood in their way as they climbed.

The landing where they’d confronted the Lord Seeker was in sight now, and Alyx quickened her steps. The same shadowy form was there, flickering so quickly between both their shapes that it appeared blurred, hard to focus on. 

“Unfair, unfair!” it snarled. “You kept each other whole, kept you from giving me your shape! I’ll start again, more pain this—”

Alyx crossed the landing in three long strides, drawing her arm back and snapping it forward, her fist connecting solidly with the thing’s murky face.

~~~

“Did you just… sucker punch the Lord Seeker?” Varric asked, incredulous and only slightly amused. 

“I suppose I did,” Alyx replied, shaking out her hand. “Bastard has a jaw like steel, though.”

“As you can see,” Emma said flippantly, indicating the twisted mass of limbs currently screeching on the floor. “That is not the Lord Seeker.”

The Envy demon, in its true form, really was monstrous. Its face was a twisted mass of swollen, red scars over chalky skin set and a terrifying maw of sharp, uneven teeth. It twisted and writhed, curling upwards in a predatory scream, before dashing off to the back of the main hall, forming a swirling barrier in its wake. 

“I can see why he’d want these beautiful faces,” Alyx sighed, swinging her arms and stretching her shoulders. “Did you catch a peek at that mug of his?”

“As much as I appreciate your sudden newfound camaraderie, I don’t think you two are adopting the correct tone here,” Varric snapped. “What happened?”

“Envy Demon,” Emma replied flatly. 

“Tried to steal our faces, destroy the Inquisition, make way for the Elder One. That sort of shit,” Alyx added. 

“Seems it took the Lord Seeker’s face,” Emma mused. 

“That monster ensured we weren’t prepared,” Barris spat, his voice wavering with anxiety. “I still don’t know what we’re up against. And if it was Envy, then the Lord Seeker is either caged… or dead. Maker.”

Emma sobered quickly; they were in the middle of a fight for their lives. How long were they gone? Given the state of the Hall, not long, thank the Maker, but what Templars remained (and there were _so few_ ) were frantic. Several were praying; some appeared to have given up, if the dead light in their eyes and the droop to their sword arms were to be believed; precious few of them were standing ready, awaiting orders. 

“How did this happen?” Alyx asked, sounding gentler than she’d _ever_ sounded, especially where Templars were concerned.

“You must have known the Red stuff was risky,” Varric murmured. 

“They often give us new kinds of Lyrium,” Barris explained, swallowing hard. “Our commanders...used it first. To prove it was harmless. The knights would have been next.”

“So he turned your leaders so you wouldn’t question its application,” Bull mused. 

Barris looked deflated—defeated—and it was reflected in the other Templars. The knights were wandering around the hall, aimless. Emma scowled, rapping her knuckles on his chestplate; “Then stop blaming yourself and help us _end_ this! Rally your knights, Barris! Come up with a plan. Be… be a _Templar_ , for Andraste’s sake!”

Something twitched in Barris’s jaw; “But what if—”

“ _No!_ ” Emma snapped, her voice echoing throughout the hall, bouncing off the stones. “Look at your men! They’re listless; they don’t know which way is up and they need someone to point them in the right direction! You knew from the beginning; you showed integrity and initiative! Now _be their leader!_ ”

Something shone in Barris’s eyes—it looked a lot like resolve. He turned to his knights; “Templars! What is Envy?”

“A coward, brother!” one of the men said, subtly shifting his stance to a more attentive one.

“It studies,” an Orlesian woman added. “Makes less mistakes… but most of all, it hides!”

“The commanders may have turned,” Barris mused. “But the lieutenants may still be fighting! We can hold the hall, and if you bring reinforcements and clean lyrium, then I’ll give you Envy.”

“You can’t hold the hall alone,” Emma countered. She sensed a bit of movement at her side, the crackle of energy arcing off her metal pauldrons. Alyx stood shoulder to shoulder with her, a smug smile on her face. “What do you think, Alyx?”

“I think we’ve got this,” Alyx replied with fire in her eyes. 

“I agree,” Emma answered. She turned to Bull and Varric; “You two hold the hall; we’ll get the veterans and the Lyrium stores. You run into trouble, make sure Bull blows that big horn of his and we’ll come running!”

“You got it, Princess,” Bull answered, hefting his giant axe. He nodded at her knowingly

“Princess?” Alyx asked with a quirked brow. 

“I don’t know; something about my hair,” Emma retorted with an easy roll of her eyes. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Show those things _no mercy,_ ” Emma growled, her lips pulled back in a feral, exhilarated snarl. 

“Ooh, I like this new side of you!” Alyx teased as she thundered up the stairs behind Emma. 

“I wouldn’t get used to it; it’s murder on my complexion,” Emma quipped, shouldering through a wooden door to the barracks. “Red Templars!”

_Stand together, and Envy is weakened._

Emma drew her spirit blade from her belt, a barrier leaping into place. She took a deep breath, drawing on the energy around her, and stepped forward. With a rush of magic and cold and _speed_ , she was clear across the courtyard, surrounded on all sides by Red Templars. She grinned—she liked it that way. 

One hand extended, freezing a group into place, while her blade flickered out and sliced through the crystalline Behemoth encroaching on her flank. Alyx’s chain lightning leapt from body to body, shattering the ones Emma had frozen. In a simultaneous motion, they swirled their staves, sending barrages of ice and lightning at the Behemoth. It went crashing to the ground. 

Emma heard the war cries of the lieutenants, and drawing on her mana once more, she activated her fade step again. A trail of ice lay behind her, and she used the momentum to throw her shoulder into one of the corrupted archers. He fell forward with a grunt, his skull cracking wetly against the stones, but Emma had no time. Alyx came dashing up the stairs, and once again the air filled with the unstoppable energy of her magic. She brought a storm down around them, but her control was impeccable. Not a single ally was hit. Emma used the distraction and chaos caused by the storm and waded into the melee, swinging left and right. She felt shored—calmed—by the familiar flow of battle, and if she forgot for a moment, she could almost hear Fergus’s great war cries… Cassius’s Antivan swearing (though she _promised_ she never swore it battle) and Ulrich’s quips and jibes about her ‘form’. She fought the sudden tight grief in her chest—now was not the time. 

The lieutenants were alive with only minor injuries, and with some careful healing, they were fit to fight again. 

“Thank the Maker you came,” one of them cried. “I thought I was going to die up here!”

“Get to the Main Hall,” Emma commanded. “There isn’t much time. The Lyrium stores?”

“Knight Captain’s office,” another veteran answered, pointing to a simple door not ten paces from them. “Maker watch over you, sister.”

“You as well,” she replied. 

Emma whipped out the Knight Captain’s keys, entering the office with her staff brought to bear. The first thing she caught was the foul scent of blood, which made her recoil with her hand over her mouth and nose. Papers lay scattered on the floor; pools of blood gathered on the stones; hundreds of candles covered every available surface, including under a gruesome mosaic of various eyes drawn in… Emma swallowed thickly and chose to believe it was paint. 

“Hey, look at this,” Alyx called, standing before what looked like a marble bust. 

A familiar wicked dagger was stabbed through the bust, a hastily written parchment pinned over the face. Emma yanked the parchment down, and a mutilated stone face of Empress Celene glared back at her. 

_The Elder One wants her dead; he hates her, haunts her, wants her dead, but hides why. He hid other things too._

“Did you hear that?” Emma asked. 

“Yeah,” Alyx replied, though her eyes were a little… bleary. “Yeah, it sounded like… huh. Who did it remind me of?”

“I don’t know,” Emma answered, reaching for the memory, but finding nothing. She shook her head, glancing at the parchment in her hands. “It’s an assassination plot against Empress Celene.”

“I don’t actually _like_ the woman, but if Celene were to die? Orlais would fall into chaos,” Alyx intoned gravely. 

“And there’s the Lyrium,” Emma nodded at the deceptively small chest on the desk, under a mess of papers. Together, they gingerly brushed them to the floor ( _paint… it’s paint)_ and hefted the chest between them. “We should head back to the hall.”

It seemed leaving Bull and Varric was a good idea, judging by the bodies of Red Templars littering the ground. Emma nodded approvingly, handing the chest off to one of the knights; “Impressive.”

“You doubted us?” Bull rejoined. 

“Not for an instant,” Alyx replied with a grin. 

A ruckus from the end of the hall drew Emma’s attention; the philters were being passed around, and the knights were banging on their shields rhythmically. Barris took the last draw, pressing the philter to his lips, and giving the silent signal. The Templars drove their swords into the stones, and they thrummed with white light. Emma bristled—she may trust these men, but she _hated_ the feel of a Cleanse—and she could tell Alyx could feel it too. Nevertheless, the sickly-green barrier wavered and fell, leading into the courtyard. 

Where Envy waited. 

“Ready?” Emma asked with a grin. 

“Born ready,” Alyx answered with a nod. 

The inner courtyard laid at the end of an open-aired corridor; the rain that had drizzled earlier at the entrance was now a torrential downpour, and Emma frowned. It would make the terrain tricky… but not impossible. 

“I touched so much of you,” a sickly, high, thin voice hissed. “But you are selfish with your glory. Now, I’m no one.”

Emma proceeded cautiously, gripped her staff tightly. Envy was nowhere in sight. 

“Maybe it fled?” Varric asked hopefully. 

Alyx snorted under her breath; “Fat chance. It’s likely sizing us up for an ambush.”

Turned out, Alyx was right. The ground roiled at her feet, and Emma threw herself backwards just in time to avoid Envy erupting from below her. Alyx pulled her to her feet, but she felt herself recoiling at Envy’s screech. But, that _voice,_ the memory of a dream that faded upon waking, echoed in her mind. It calmed her.

_Dark and desperate, death to make yourself alive. I used to be like you. I’m not anymore. You shouldn’t be, either._

Envy, more monster than man now, swung wildly, and she and Alyx dropped into the familiar pattern. Emma threw out support, dashed out of the way, and swung when it got close enough. Alyx rained death and destruction on it, drawing power from the existing storm. But Envy was relentless, and soon, Emma was running low on mana. She could tell it had everything to do with fighting through the Cleanse, but she didn’t have time. She didn’t have _time._ She lifted her spirit blade, and drawing on her dwindling reserves, activated her fade step one more time. 

She ran literal circles around Envy, disorienting it, slashing out when she could. She tried to dance out of it’s reach while Alyx swung at it with her own spirit blade. It crackled in the rain and left bright purple, glowing wounds carved into Envy’s chest, but it wasn’t enough. They had it pinned down, but its long spindly arms gave it reach beyond even their most carefully applied tactics, and Bianca, while brutal, could not kill it on her own. It was time to pull what was colloquially known amongst Knight Enchanters as ‘the Angel of Death’—the card that ended the game.

“Alyx!” Emma called. “Keep it in place!”

“Can do!” Alyx returned, pulling the wild, magical lightning around herself and directing it at Envy. It screamed as it struggled in Alyx’s static cage. “I’ll hold it as long as I can!”

Emma drew the last of her mana; it was risky, but she had enough. _Just_ enough. She felt the bizarre floaty sensation of existing, and also not existing. She hurled herself forward, shuddering when she stepped into Envy’s space, and released the spell. 

The demon gave a great cry of pain as she rematerialized; ichor exploded out from it as it writhed its death throes in the grass. The rain washed the black gore away from her armor and hair, but she was drained. Done. Finished. She felt herself keel. 

“Whoa, I got you there, Princess.” She fell into Bull’s arms, her limbs losing all sensation. 

“You’re an idiot,” Alyx growled, though there was genuine affection in her tone. “I had plenty of mana; I could have finished the bastard off.”

“Well you know me,” Emma quipped, trying to shake the cobwebs from her head. “Drama queen, and all.”

“Well, that was a crazy spell!” Alyx exclaimed. “The way he just…” She pantomimed an explosion—sound effects and all. “Could you teach it to me?”

“Sure. Any time,” Emma answered. “We should head back in; tell the Templars of Envy’s fate.”

“Seems they beat us out here,” Bull said, pulling Emma to her feet. “They probably want to talk to you.”

Emma approached Barris on shaky legs; if he noticed, he kept quiet, Andraste bless him. The Order flanked him on all sides—at least...what remained. 

“The demon is dead, Andraste be praised,” Barris breathed a sigh of relief. “We tried to get as many as we could, but we have no way of knowing how many Red Templars escaped. We have numbers across Thedas, but we let this happen. Our officers were either blind or complicit.”

“At least he admits it,” Alyx muttered under her breath. 

“What would the Inquisition ask of us, Sister Trevelyan?” Barris inquired. The anxiety in his eyes was clear—he expected the worst. 

Emma stepped forward, holding her chin high and her shoulders back; “Brothers. Sisters. There was betrayal here today. But also there was valor—you stood with me, with the Inquisition, against evil. Do it again! The Order is a symbol of hope and respect among the people; rebuild! The Inquisition offers an alliance: weapons, supplies, grounds to shelter you! All we ask is your help in sealing the Breach before it swallows us all! Will you stand with us? Stand with me?”

For a heart-stopping moment, there was nothing but silence. But a wave of… something passed over the assembled Templars before they started cheering in ascension. Emma grinned widely, and she even heard Bull huff in approval. 

“It seems we accept your terms,” Barris replied easily, resting a hand on her shoulder. “The Templars will come. I hope your stronghold is ready.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Herald… Xander. It’s OK. It’s not real.”

Dorian rather thought all of this was… an intellectual exercise. It was so easy to pretend none of this was real—he didn’t have to live this horror. He could watch it as though it was happening to someone else. Iris—little Iris—her fate was tragic, but not _real._ He knew Xander wouldn’t have to live with his actions very long: either they would return to their own time and circumvent all of this; or they would die here, and it wouldn’t matter. Purely intellectual… 

At least, that’s what he told himself. 

But seeing this man—this huge, strong man—kneeling beside the mangled body of a girl barely out of her teenaged years, sobbing brokenly into hands that were covered in black blood, it was hard not to feel a twist in his gut. What was this feeling? It was dreadful; that much was certain. He lowered a hand to his shoulder… those impossibly broad shoulders that carried the literal weight of the world, and the vehemence in those spring green eyes was shocking. 

“It felt pretty _fucking real_ to me, Dorian!” Xander shouted. 

“Listen,” Dorian pleaded, softer… gentler. “Xander, listen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never wanted this to happen; but someone would have heard that, and if we can’t get to Alexius then this is for nothing!”

“Right,” Xander replied, taking several deep breaths. “Right. Where would he be?”

“My guess would be the throne room,” Dorian offered.

“Then let’s pay him a visit,” Xander said evenly and for a moment, Dorian was _frightened_ of the Herald. The rage was easier… it wasn’t as personal. The _grief_ was easier—it wasn’t as terrifying. This… nonchalance in the face of total devastation... _Forget_ the beautiful man holding aloft a magical mark bestowed by the Maker’s Bride herself; _this_ version of the Herald was scary. 

The icy water appeared to be coming from the ceiling, rushing through cracks in the foundation where Red Lyrium punched its way through the stones. The dungeons must have been vast and deep—they seemed to be well below the surface of Lake Calenhad.

“ _Maker,_ why is it coming out of the walls?” Dorian murmured under his breath, giving the lyrium a wide berth. It was… _warm._ He hated to think why. 

“Are you sure you’re willing to find out?” Xander deadpanned. He paused suddenly, drawing up short and throwing out his arm. “Guards ahead.”

“We need a plan,” Dorian whispered. “Possibly flank them, or—”

He was interrupted by Xander’s mighty shout; the big brute was brandishing that oversized letter opener and charging ahead like he had a death wish. 

“Or we could just wade in like a couple of savages,” Dorian cried after him. “Whatever our fearless leader decides.”

Xander didn’t seem to care; he didn’t react to his words at all. Dorian could only watch in horror while Xander swung the huge sword, catching a couple guards in the ribs. Blood erupted from messy, jagged stumps, and cleaved limbs fell to the grated floor. The big man was practically spattered in it, and still he pressed on. While Dorian did his best damage control, fencing the enemy in and keeping them there, Xander seemed to have no regard for his flank or his back.

“No, no,” Sera whimpered from behind him. The telltale twang of a bowstring was nearly lost to the melee, and an imperfect arrow erupted from a Venatori eye socket. “Not right—too many _parts_. I’m not supposed to watch his back… Not _his!_ ”

It seemed they had largely taken care of the guards, but Xander was still going; a man—or rather, the mangled remains of a man—lay pinned beneath him while he drew back his unmarked fist, driving it into the man’s face over and over. Xander grunted with exertion and something that sounded suspiciously like grief, but Dorian was drawn to the bloodied, ragged expanse of the Herald’s fists. 

“ _Xander,_ ” Dorian exclaimed, wrapping his hand around his upper arm. “He’s quite dead; all you’re going to do is bring what guards remain down on our heads.”

Xander jerked away from the touch, a flash of something… dark crossing his eyes before they shuttered once more. Dorian tried to ignore the feeling it invoked in him—the man was grieving—but all he was doing was drawing unnecessary attention to them. 

“Come on,” Xander snapped. “Let’s find Leliana and… Alexius.”

“This isn’t right,” Sera said softly. 

“I know he’s… a touch aggressive, but—”

“No, you don’t understand!” Sera entreated. “He’s… different. He changed. He’s _wrong._ He’s a protector. He protected us. I don’t want to remember this Herald.”

“Hopefully, you won’t have to,” Dorian murmured. 

They followed Xander up yet another set of damp, slippery stone stairs, and Dorian came to the conclusion that Fereldans were as fond of their stairs as they were their dogs. There were too _bloody_ many, and he almost said something to that effect, if nothing else to break this ghastly tension. But the line of Xander’s shoulders and the hunch of his spine told he wasn’t really in the mood for jesting. 

They came to what was probably once an austere if cozy guardsman's office, if one was into drafty stone castles, but the effect was rather ruined by the crates of Red Lyrium crystals lying about. The room seemed blissfully empty of Venatori. 

“Let’s look around; see if there’s something we can use,” Dorian suggested. 

They pawed through the various papers scattered over the tables, but most of it looked like semi-religious ramblings—absolutely nothing of value. By Andraste, it wouldn’t even be relevant if they made it out of this. Unfortunately, with Xander’s newest raging rampage, it appeared that was a _big_ ‘if’. Giving the crystals a wide berth, they hiked up _yet_ more stairs to wade through _yet_ more icy, ankle-deep water, though this particular pool was stagnant. So that was nice.

Dorian shuddered to imagine what part of the castle they were in; he heard the vague, thin grunts of pain that often accompanied torture. Or reeducation. Or both. 

“There is no _Maker,_ ” spat a vehement voice on the other side of a door. It was flanked by strange braziers that offered thin, too-pale light and little else. Cold fire… “The Elder One has taken all that is his and will soon rule from His city!”

“That still doesn’t make him a God,” a low voice, small with pain, replied stubbornly. It was immediately followed by a grunt of agony and then telling silence. So, reeducation, then. Whoever was on the other side of that door was dead, and it would behoove them to move on. 

Dorian almost said as much before Xander kicked the door firmly, splintering the wood easily. There were only three sparsely-armed men. Had Dorian the element of surprise, he could have taken them out with a well-placed fire mine. But that big, heroic idiot (who was being more _idiot_ than hero at the moment) had to surge in, once again screaming at the top of his Maker-damned lungs. 

“ _Fasta vass,_ ” Dorian hissed under his breath. If they were _lucky_ at this point, they would draw every torturer in the place down on their heads and then _everything_ would be ruined!

When their enemies were felled, Dorian approached the Herald, though the swing he pulled came just a _touch_ too close to taking off Dorian’s head! He nearly had to flatten himself on the filthy stone floor. 

“ _Stop!”_ Sera cried, pulling back her bowstring. “Herald. Stop.”

And he did. He lowered his sword, clenching it and a white-knuckled grip. Anger and shame warred on his face; “I’m sorry.”

“Quite alright,” Dorian replied, though he was most certainly _not_ alright. His heart pounded in his ears, and his pulse raced. “But I _am_ quite a bit more handsome than these Venatori louts; do try to tell the difference.”

Xander huffed under his breath, shouldering his way to the door; “Come on. Someone will have heard that.”

“I see someone’s seeing sense,” Dorian groused under his breath, though he regretted the words the moment they left his lips. The wounded look Xander sent over his shoulder… it was almost too much to bear. 

The corridor became hauntingly quiet, and the three of them were on edge waiting for an ambush to pop out of the pervasive shadows, but it never came. Instead, they heard the hollow grunts of air being punched from lungs and a familiar Orlesian lilt from a mere few doors down. If Dorian was correct, the Spymaster was being interrogated by a man who did not favor the subtle art of thumbscrews. 

“How did Trevelyan know of the sacrifice at the Temple? Answer,” the interrogator demanded. 

“Never.” The vitriolic response was cut off by a grunt of pain. 

“There’s no use to this defiance, little bird! There’s _nothing left_ for you to protect.”

“You’re wasting your breath.” Another guttural, agonized groan. 

Xander charged forward, shouldering through the door. What Dorian saw… the draping, violet uniform of the Spymaster, though dingy, was instantly recognizable. Her face was hidden in shadow as she dangled limply from the ceiling, the Venatori interrogator approaching with a wicked-looking dagger. 

“You will _break_ ,” he hissed, pressing her head back, the knife against her throat. 

“I will _die_ first,” Leliana responded, her voice rusty. Xander made a great deal of noise barrelling into the room as he did, and it instantly drew the interrogator’s attention. Suddenly, there was a smugness to the Spymaster’s voice. “Or you will.”

With great strength that Dorian envied, she wrapped too-thin thighs around the man’s throat. He struggled mightily, but a quick jerk of her hips, and the Venatori fell to the floor in a heap. Leliana sagged instantly, her weight being borne by her shoulders. Xander, seemingly aching for a familiar face, rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Leliana’s hips and lifting her gently. 

“Dorian, help me,” he pleaded, allowing her to rest on his shoulders. 

“You… you’re alive,” she rasped. Dorian grabbed the keys from the table, reaching up to undo the shackles that held her. Leliana’s face fell into sharp relief and… _Oh Maker,_ it was hard to see. Shrivelled. Corrupted. Blighted. The once lovely woman was a husk—a shell of her former self—and it was obvious Xander was affected.

“I am,” Xander replied gently. “I’m sorry, Leliana. I tried—”

“No,” she snapped, steadying herself on her feet when her hands were freed. “You must… do you have weapons?”

Xander nodded, indicating the sword in his hands. 

“Good,” Leliana replied shortly, moving to a chest in the corner. “The magister is probably in his chambers.”

Dorian quirked his brow, suddenly uncomfortable. He reached for the thing he knew… the only comfort he could offer; “You… aren’t curious how we got here?”

“No.” 

_Oh joy. Another one._

He tried to explain. He went over it again—Alexius sent them into the future, he could reverse it, and prevent it from happening. How they needed to get back; how it wasn’t _real._ It was a bad dream—this was never going to come to pass. Not if he had his way. This future… it was a nightmare, but it would end. 

“And Mages always wonder why people fear them,” Leliana spat. “ _No one_ should have this power.”

“It’s dangerous. And unpredictable,” Dorian acquiesced, feeling a bit stung. A sharp, bitter betrayal nagged at him when Xander didn’t automatically jump to his defense. He wondered why. “But before the Breach, nothing we did—"

“ _Enough,_ ” Leliana spat, slicing her hand through the air. “This is all _pretend_ to you--some future you hope will never exist! I suffered--the _world_ suffered--and I had to watch good friends die! It was real enough to us.”

Dorian had met Leliana very briefly in Haven, and she was scary--like she could take one look at you and know every sordid detail about your life in the time it took to introduce yourself. This Leliana was scary in an unfamiliar way; a darkness had permeated her soul. 

“We should move on,” Xander offered, placing a soft hand on Leliana’s emaciated shoulder. Though she winced at the contact, something crumbled in her eyes, and an expression that may have been called softness peeked through for the barest second. 

Dorian trailed behind Leliana and Xander, trying his hardest to hold his tongue, but the silence was too much. Xander’s marked hand started sparking, and that was never a good sign. 

“What happened?” Dorian asked. 

“Stop talking,” Leliana hissed.

“I’m just asking for information!”

“No. You’re talking to fill silence. Nothing happened that you want to hear.”

Dorian opened his mouth to retort, drawing in an indignant huff, but a sharp glare from Xander blew the wind out of his defiance. For the barest second, Dorian felt rather ganged up on, but then he heard it. The odd electric sound of a Rift… inside? He shuddered as Xander burst through one of the doors, and horror coursed through him when he saw the rings on the floor. Xander had set up in one, moving with such incredible speed. His mouth was open in a (blessedly silent) cry, and he was soon spattered in the blood of fallen demons. With a twitch of his marked hand, the Rift snapped shut with a distant-thunder sound. It happened so quickly, Dorian could barely register there ever was a fight. With Sera and Leliana’s effective cover fire and Xander’s uncanny ability to draw enemies to him, Dorian was starting to feel rather useless. He’d never seen the Mark in action, though, and it was… 

“Fascinating!” Dorian murmured. “How does that work, exactly? Do you even know, or do you just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes.”

“Dorian,” Xander reprimanded, though the soft strain in his voice took out a lot of the sting. “Time and place.”

“Right, of course,” Dorian replied, feeling quite sheepish for his academic curiosity. “We should find Alexius--I would imagine he would be in a… much nicer part of the castle.”

And there it was--Xander’s impossibly full lips drew up (ever so slightly) in the shadow of a wry, crooked smile. He indicated the stairs (more _bloody_ stairs) with a jerk of his head and led them continuously up. He was dragged through all manner of unpleasant venues, from an open platform over the many layers of dungeon they’d just crawled out of to a chamber reeking of blood and death (including a ritual dais spattered with the stuff and _actual piles of skulls_ , as if Alexius needed to be more of a cliche). Dorian nearly spat; it was _madness._ Alexius couldn’t have wanted it! It _hurt_ to think his former master--a man who’d hated blood magic almost as much as Dorian had--would stoop to this level! Who _was_ this Elder One!? What did he promise? 

Dorian thought he would be relieved when they finally saw daylight. They stepped onto the Blighted grass of the inner Courtyard, and Dorian raised his eyes to see the sun, but froze in horror. There was no sunlight, nor sky, nor even _clouds_. 

“The Breach,” Xander muttered, horror strangling his voice. 

Dorian drew in a sharp breath, feeling himself go cold; “Everywhere.”

~~~

Xander was _exhausted._ He was sure if he voiced such concerns, Dorian would come back with a quip along the lines of ‘of course, time travel will do that to you’. But he wasn’t in the mood for such quips. He was tired and angry, and all the while grief tore at his heart. He couldn’t stop seeing Iris as that… thing. He felt like a murderer, putting her down like a mad dog, but the small part of him that was rational at the moment knew she was in pain. That part also knew that none of it was _real_ , but it didn’t make it easier. 

Xander hadn’t missed the wounded look Dorian had given him when this future’s Leliana had all but condemned Dorian to his face. As much as he’d wanted to jump to Dorian’s defense, he hadn’t the strength. He was _horrified._ Everything felt so surreal, and yet in this moment, it was very real, with Sera’s eyes swirling with Red Lyrium’s corruption and Leliana’s twisted features… He knew in his heart he wouldn’t sleep well for months after this. 

_No one should have this power._

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a Rift opening in the center of the Courtyard. It was impossibly huge, and Shades were spilling out of it by the dozens. Xander hefted his weapon, wading into the fray. He swung his greatsword, felling the creatures left and right. At this point, his armor was spattered with gore and sweat plastered his hair to the back of his neck. He saw a Shade encroaching on his left, and with a mighty swing, he brought his sword down on its head, crushing it into macabre paste. 

In hindsight, it was a stupid move, considering he was surrounded. 

One swiped with its unforgiving claws across the back of his shoulders; another jammed its talons into his side, digging into his ribs. Two more sank fangs into his leg, and swiped across his face. He managed to dodge enough so that it only sliced upward over his eyebrow, missing his eye entirely, but the damage had been done. Xander screamed, but not in triumph or anger or grief but in agonizing pain. Blood ran into his eye and pooled inside his armor. He shook the Shades off of him, reaching for the Rift with a weak arm. He felt that tell-tale pull; the one that felt like it drained him to this very soul, and he _yanked._ The Rift managed to close with a snap of energy, disintegrating the Shades surrounding him, but now Xander’s exhaustion had way more to do with the copious amounts of blood he appeared to be losing. 

The world wavered around him, and he collapsed to his knees. His hands were too weak to hold his sword anymore, and he pitched forward. 

“You bloody _idiot,_ ” Dorian hissed as lean, muscular arms wrapped around Xander’s shoulders and chest. He was gently lowered to the ground, his head cradled oh-so-tenderly in those soft hands that burned too-warm. “You’re not going to die on me, Alexander Trevelyan. Do I make myself _fucking_ clear?”

The use of his full name brought him out of his stupor long enough to feel the caress of magic in his system. It felt so odd--like gentle hands coaxing his skin to heal. He felt tears form at the corner of his eyes, and _very real_ hands gently brushed them away. Xander gazed at Dorian through lidded eyes, suddenly feeling the urge to smooth out the furrows between his eyebrows. 

“I’m fine, Dorian,” Xander groaned, moving to sit up and halting when he found it unbearably painful. 

“You most certainly are not fine, you bleeding barbarian!” Dorian exclaimed, his voice high and hysterical. “Wading into a pile of Shades like that… What would Iris think? What would she say if her brother didn’t make it back to her because he was an idiot with a death wish?”

Xander’s breath caught painfully in his chest, and the tears came more readily. Again, those gentle fingers brushed them away, and Xander resisted the urge to lean into the hand cupping his jaw; “You don’t get to talk about her, Dorian. None of this is _real_ to you.”

The rasp in his voice--the threat of tears--took a lot of the sting out of the jab. Dorian snorted under his breath; “It shouldn’t be real to you either! How else can we survive if we believe this is our fate? Is this the future you want? Then by all means continue to swing your sword like a great big lummox and doom us all! I, however, prefer a sky that isn't one giant hole into the Fade and a landscape that _isn't_ littered with Red Lyrium!”

Dorian’s magic stopped pushing into him for a moment, and when Xander took stock of his situation, he realized the pain had subsided. He allowed Dorian to help him up with some difficulty, considering how much taller he was than the other man. He felt a shamed flush work it’s way across his cheeks; he had been behaving like a right git. He’d allowed his grief to endanger them all, and then it would have been his fault. 

He choked down the sob building in his chest--he’d certainly allowed Dorian to see enough of his tears for one lifetime-- but found he couldn’t resist the gentle hand on his cheek. This time, to his surprise, he _did_ lean into the touch, and he felt so… grounded. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry for… for falling apart.”

“Quite alright,” Dorian replied flippantly. “Just… don’t do it again?”

“You have my word,” Xander swore. “I won’t… I am at your side.”

“I’d rather hoped you would be at my front, _dear leader,_ ” Dorian jested with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. “But, alas, time and place and all that.”

Xander couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that escaped from him as he turned towards the castle entrance. They found themselves in a narrow passage that Dorian seemed to be contemplating with intense scrutiny.

“I recognize this door,” Dorian muttered.

“How?” Xander asked, trying to see what Dorian was seeing.

“It leads to one of the secret passages we used to get into the throne room,” Dorian answered, brushing his hand against what was probably once an intricately-carved Mabari. “See the mark? Escape route for the family and all that.”

“How did you even _get_ to this door?” Xander asked, baffled. It seemed to be at the heart of the castle.

At this, Leliana made a sound under her breath; “You always did underestimate me, Herald. But good find. Assuming it’s not blocked, this should lead us right to the throne room.”

“And bypass any wards and guards Alexius has set,” Dorian finished with a snap of his fingers. “See? What _would_ you do without me?”

“Don’t push your luck, Dorian,” Xander replied with a roll of his eyes. He glowered at the doorway, which appeared to be only _just_ high enough to let him through. He would bet good money he’d have to stoop before long. “Lead the way while you’re still on my good side.”

“So fickle,” Dorian jested, pushing the door open cautiously. Seeing no Venatori guards and sensing no wards, he proceeded. “So unbecoming of a leader!”

“Would you two _shut it_?” Sera snapped, and for a second, she almost sounded herself again. Xander felt another weight lift from his shoulders, though he didn’t much feel like smiling. Yet. 

The tunnel was long and low, enough that Xander _did_ have to stoop in places. It was only just wide enough for one man to pass through, and again, Xander cursed his Free Marcher bulk as his shoulders brushed against the wall. It was slow going, with Dorian sensing for wards and keeping careful watch for traps, side tunnels or collapses. But it seemed largely clear. It looked like Alexius either didn’t know of this tunnel; or he never thought it would be used against him. Xander couldn’t help the little victorious _thrill_ that fluttered in his chest. 

They might just be able to stand a chance. 

After what appeared to be an eternity in a dank tunnel with only the sounds of their scuffling feet, they emerged into the dim throne room. It looked so familiar and yet… it was wrong. Tevinter banners--no, _Venatori_ banners--fluttered where tapestries of dogs and triumph should have been. Rubble littered the once-pristine stones, and the braziers were flickering with a cold blue fire that sent everything in the room into sharp relief. 

And there, at the place where Xander had seen him last, Alexius stood at the head of the hall. The throne had been cleared out to be replaced with an ostentatious carved Dragon’s head, and a fire burned too bright and too hot in the hearth. A young, emaciated man crouched at Alexius’s feet, gazing off into the middle distance. 

Xander wanted to shout when he approached. He wanted to let all his pain and his grief flow through his voice and shout _poison_ until Alexius died from sharp words alone. But Dorian… he looked so lost, gazing on his former mentor. On what he’d become. On what he’d wrought. A voice that sounded suspiciously _like_ Dorian stayed his harsh words. 

_This isn’t the way. He is a good man--he can be made to see._

“Look at what you’ve done, Alexius,” Xander shouted. Alexius started, whirling on the party with wild eyes. He reached for his staff, but deflated when he saw Xander. “All this suffering… and for what?”

If it was possible, Alexius sagged even further; “For my country. For my son. But it means nothing, now. I knew you would appear again--not that it would be now, but I _knew_ I hadn’t destroyed you. My _final_ failure.”

Dorian stiffened at Xander’s side, and his eyes danced with equal parts hope and despair; “Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world--to _yourself?_ ”

“It doesn’t matter, now,” Alexius sighed, turning his back to them, gazing into that too-hot fire. “It doesn’t matter how you escaped my spell, or how you entered my locked throne room. All we can do is wait… until the end.”

Xander snarled; “It _does_ matter, and I will undo this!”

“The past _cannot be undone!”_ Alexius snarled. “All that remains is ruin. And death. The Elder One comes for you. For me. For _us all_.”

Xander wanted to shake the man, equal parts wanting him to rally and help them and _beat him to a bloody pulp._ He needed the amulet, and this despondency wasn’t getting them _anywhere._ He almost asked for it when a rustle of fabric and the sharp _snkt_ of a dagger being unsheathed drew all their attentions. Leliana had the sickly boy pulled against her chest, a wicked-looking blade pressed to his throat. The lad didn’t seem to care, or even register the threat. 

“Felix!” Alexius whimpered.

“That’s Felix?” Dorian breathed, horror distorting his features. “Maker’s _Breath,_ Alexius! What have you done?”

“He would have _died_ , Dorian! I saved him!” Alexius pleaded, reaching for his son… or the thing that used to be his son. “ _Please._ Don’t hurt my son! I’ll do anything you ask!”

_Hand over the amulet, and we’ll let him go._ That was his first thought. Use the boy as a bargaining chip. Xander had only seen Felix very briefly in the throne room and… he was a shell, now. The once defiant boy was now a husk that couldn’t be bothered to be frightened for his own life. Xander thought to Iris down in the cells. 

_Please, Brother, the song… I can’t. It’s so loud… it hurts! Please, don’t leave me…_

“Make it quick, Leliana,” Xander ordered. “He deserves that much.”

Leliana nodded once, before turning her defiant eyes on Alexius. The man groveled, begged her to reconsider. He would give her whatever she wanted, and this seemed to be the exact wrong thing to say. Her blue eyes flashed as she pressed the dagger in tighter; “I want the _world_ back!”

Leliana drew the dagger across Felix’s throat with quick precision. The boy crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The light went out of his eyes, and Xander was thankful for the quick death. Unfortunately, Alexius seemed to disagree. He shouted--the horrible, wounded cry of someone irreparably damaged-- and grasped his staff, waving it about his head. A barrier erected in its wake, and Xander dropped into a defensive stance. 

Leliana retreated into the shadows, trying to escape the push of force Alexius applied. In a fluid motion, her bow was out and an arrow was trained on the Magister. Sera dropped into a similar stance, peppering Alexius with arrows as best she could. Unfortunately for the archers, his barrier seemed effective at stopping them, especially considering they weren’t of the best quality. Dorian’s fire seemed to do better, bright flames licking up Alexius’s limbs and nearly catching his Tevinter robes. Alexius turned to Dorian, snarling like a poked bear, and began summoning fire of his own. Dorian couldn’t take a hit like that… 

“Hey!” Xander yelled, drawing Alexius’s attention. “It’s me you want!”

Xander brandished his greatsword, drawing Alexius’s fire. For the most part, it licked harmlessly over his armor. Once Xander closed, Alexius didn’t stand much of a chance. He was able to keep the sword off of himself with clumsy parries from his staff, but Xander could see the cracks in the man’s defenses. He drew the blade back, intending to go in for a powerful sweep, but he didn’t expect Alexius to fight dirty. 

There was a hole in his armor where the Shades had clawed him earlier. He should have remembered, because in a flash, a Tevinter dagger was lodged in the new, shiny skin just under his ribs. Xander hissed, his breath stolen by pain, as Alexius backed himself behind a shield. Sickly green magic whirled around their heads, and Xander realized what he would do… he was summoning a Rift! How could he _do_ that? 

Xander did all he could think to do: he reached for the Rift, allowing that energy to drain his own, tugging and sucking and _taking_. Just when he thought he would black out, he felt the familiar pull, and Xander pulled back. The energy of the unformed Rift blasted through the hall, shearing through Alexius’s barrier and blowing him against the wall. As quickly as he could move, he dashed up to Alexius’s side; before the older man could get up, Xander pulled his leg back and kicked Alexius in the face _hard._ He rolled onto his back, and when his blue eyes met Xander’s, he didn’t see fear or disgust… but resolve. 

Xander drove the tip of this blade through Alexius’s chest, and just like that, he was gone. 


	12. Chapter 12

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” Dorian murmured, reaching down to shut Alexius’s eyelids. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications… he lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh… Alexius.”

“I’m so sorry, Dorian,” Xander offered, placing what he hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder. He swallowed hard. “For what it’s worth… for what it’s worth, I know what you’re going through.”

“I know,” Dorian replied softly, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes. “‘It’s not real,’ right? Anyway, this is the same amulet he used… I think it’s the same one from Minrathous. Give me an hour, and I should be able to reopen the Rift.”

“An _hour_?” Leliana spat, stalking forward. “That’s impossible! You must go _now!”_

As if summoned by her plea, Xander felt the ground shake beneath his boots, and what sounded like a dragon’s cry echoed through the chambers. Rubble fell from the ceilings, filling the air with dust. 

“The Elder One,” Leliana breathed, sounding fearful for the first time since they’d found her in that torture chamber. The idea lodged a shard of ice in Xander’s spine. 

Sera stood straight, clutching her bow in a white-knuckled grip; “I’ll make them hurt. Do your weird thing… I won’t let _it_ win again!”

Xander could physically feel himself pale; “No! I won’t… I won’t let you die for me! Not again!”

“We’re already dead,” Leliana assured. “The only way we live is if this day never comes. Cast your spell; you have as much time as I have arrows.”

Sera slid out through the door, shouldering a fresh quiver, while Leliana stood vigil on the inside. Dorian began working the amulet. Xander, on the other hand, had never felt so useless. Time ticked by impossibly slowly, to the point where he was sure the amulet must have been working. It was unnervingly quiet, which made him so much more nervous than if there were sounds of battle. Sera was not quiet when she shot—she really made such a terrible rogue—and normally, he found it distracting at best. But at that moment, he felt like would give every sovereign in the Trevelyan family’s coffers to hear her say something immature and vaguely gross before hearing the sharp twang of her bowstring. He couldn’t even make conversation; it was too tense, and Dorian’s concentration was too vital. All he wanted to do was go home and see Iris hale and whole. He wanted to see the Maker-damned sunlight, even if it was tinged by the breach. He was sick of being cold and wet and in pain. 

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Dorian made a triumphant noise, and the pale green energy of the amulet started to flicker on the dim walls. Unfortunately, the Elder One’s forces chose that exact moment to reach the door. Xander felt cold inside. Sera was dead. It may not have been the ‘real’ Sera, but to know she would die for him, and for the world… he saw the elf in a whole new light, and he promised himself that no matter what wacky, off-the-wall thing she demanded, he would trust her. No matter what. 

“Come on,” Dorian urged, yanking Xander up by his wrist. “It’s ready.”

The vortex began swirling above their heads, the amulet crackling between Dorian’s hands. The door shook with the force of whatever hit it. 

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame,” Leliana muttered resolutely. She raised her bow, pulling the arrow back with a sense of finality. The door crashed open, revealing Terrors and Venatori mages, one of which had Sera’s limp body in his grasp. He tossed her to the ground, and her head smacked wetly against the floor. She didn’t deserve it… none of them did. “Andraste guide me!” Leliana shot an arrow into one of the Terrors, and it fell. “Maker, take me to your side!” Another arrow. Another enemy. One after another. But they kept coming. She would soon be overwhelmed.

She ran out of arrows at the exact moment a black-fletched arrow lodged itself in her shoulder. She grunted with pain, and Xander didn’t even realize he’d begun moving towards her until he felt Dorian’s hand on his shoulder. 

“You move,” Dorian cried over the sound of the battle and the sound of the slowly-growing vortex. “And we all die!”

Xander had never felt so fucking _helpless._ Leliana fought valiantly, but the Elder One commanded great numbers. As many as she took down, twice as many swooped on her. The awful, bestial shriek tore through the castle once more, and Xander turned back. 

_Maker, I wish I didn’t turn back!_

Leliana was in a choke hold, her eyes fearful and full of tears, while a Terror swiped at her abdomen. Xander called out to her, but he barely heard himself, let alone knew if she heard him; “I will make this right! I promise!”

Soon, the vortex grew enough for them to go through, and darkness took them. 

~~~

The vortex closed, and Xander and Dorian stood in a cloud of black smoke. Alexius looked stricken, and Iris was left feeling rather liked she missed something. Especially when she looked at Xander: he was covered in Maker knew what, and there appeared to be a fairly serious stab wound in his side. Despite that, though, he seemed _triumphant_ of all things. 

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian snarked, crossing his arms defiantly. 

Something told Iris that whatever had happened, it had worked, if only briefly. One second, Xander had been tossing himself onto Dorian’s prone form, the next he stood before Alexius covered in gore and staring down the Magister like he might actually kill him. Alexius, to his credit, managed to look remorseful when he went to his knees before the Herald. 

“You failed, Alexius,” Xander spat, towering over the man in a way she’d never seen before. He always stooped a bit, like he was ashamed of his height. Now, he stood tall, his shoulders drawn to their full breadth. “How forgiving is your _Elder One_?”

“You won. There is no point extending this charade,” Alexius sighed, defeated and despondent. He turned to the boy, Felix, barely restrained tears in his voice. “Felix…”

“It’s going to be alright, Father,” Felix assured, kneeling to his father’s level, looking him dead in the eye. 

“You’ll die!” Alexius countered, the fight going out of his voice. 

Felix narrowed his eyes, his jaw twitching, his mouth flattening to a thin line; “Everyone dies.”

Father and son shared a moment; Alexius crumpled at his son’s grim expression, and the warmth in Felix’s eyes was enough to make Iris’s stomach flip. They loved each other, and for the time, Iris could really believe that Alexius did it all for his son. She idly wondered what that was like as two Inquisition guards escorted Alexius away. It was not in chains, and he stood straight. Xander, on the other hand, looked like he’d been to the Void and back. She’d never seen anyone look so bereft, and when he sagged slightly, she ran to him. 

“Maker’s Breath, but you’re a mess,” she exclaimed, her hands fluttering over him. She had some talent for healing, but she hadn’t the slightest idea of where to begin. She started with the wound in his side. It wasn’t large, but his breathing was uneven. “Maker’s breath! Does it hurt?”

“You’d be amazed what adrenaline can do,” Xander replied flippantly, but his voice was so pained, it came across as exhausted. “Seems to be wearing off, though.”

“We should get you back to the inn,” Iris chastised, inspecting the area around the wound for infection or poison. Seeing no evidence of either, she bit her lip and examined the rest of him for any major life-threatening injuries. 

“All things considered, I think it worked out well, and I’m glad that’s over with,” Dorian interjected, though a commotion at the front of the hall drew their attention as one. Soldiers—dozens of them—in fine, sturdy armor trimmed in leather and fur, marched in two uniform columns until they lined the hall. They stood at attention, their swords glinting in their scabbards. There was something rough about the austere uniforms—Fereldan soldiers. Dorian wrinkled his nose with what could only be described as distaste. “Or not.”

A man and woman, dressed finely but practically, came through the doors following the soldiers. The man was tall with broad shoulders and ginger hair. He had laugh lines around his hazel eyes and full-lipped mouth, which gave him a look of perpetual joviality, though he currently wore a sour scowl. The woman, on the other hand, was impossibly beautiful, with long chestnut hair and kind, brown eyes. She held the man’s arm firmly, as though holding him back. Or protecting him. Likely both.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” the man snapped. His voice sounded like it should have been full of mirth and warmth; the stern growl didn’t seem to fit. “Imagine my surprise when I learned you’d granted Redcliffe Castle to a Tevinter Magister.”

Fiona stepped out of the shadows, something… imperceptible crossing her face; “Your majesties.” The Grand Enchanter swept into a low, graceful bow. 

“Especially since I’m fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan,” Alistair continued, jerking his head towards a man trailing behind them. 

“Majesties?” Iris murmured, looking back and forth between the lovely couple. It took a few seconds, but it clicked eventually—she stood in the presence of Alistair and Lynn Theirin, the King of Queen of Ferelden. 

“Your majesty,” Fiona pleaded. Her voice shook with emotion and anxiety. “We… we never intended—”

“We know what you intended,” the Queen interjected not unkindly, holding up a hand for silence. 

“We wanted to help you,” the King added, his face crumpling slightly. He almost looked…sad. And Iris understood the position he was in—Fiona had consorted with a known enemy of Ferelden. She’d put the King into an impossible position. “You… and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

Iris saw Lynn’s hand tighten on her husband’s arm, her brown eyes tense. Fiona, on the other hand, made an undignified—if justified—cry; “But… we have _hundreds_ that need protection! Where will we go?”

Xander straightened at this, though he still clutched at his injured side. He managed to limp forward and still, somehow, look composed; “I did come here to seek the alliance of the Mages.”

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked shrewdly, her warm green eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian snapped. He turned his eyes on Xander, looking… desperate? Pleading? “The Inquisition is… better than that, yes?”

“Of course it is,” Xander snapped, though there was little sting in it. “Grand Enchanter, you won’t be our prisoners. We will not throw you in Circles. We offer you safe harbor and sanctuary, materials, whatever you need. So long as you help us close the Breach.”

“And you’re so sure the rest of the Inquisition will follow these terms?” Fiona asked. 

“Grand Enchanter, the time for petty squabbles and old prejudices has passed,” Xander replied. He narrowed his eyes, allowing his gaze to flicker to Iris before settling back on the Grand Enchanter. “Trust is important; it will be required to move forward. And without your trust, the world is doomed. Of this, I am sure.”

“I’d take that offer, if I were you,” Alistair growled. “One way or another, you’re _leaving_ my kingdom.”

The Queen patted Alistair’s arm, looking like she very much wanted to lean on his shoulder or touch his hair, but she had to stand on ceremony. They had to appear united, despite their mutual hesitancy. Iris could see that the King was the one making the hard decision and his Queen was standing by him.

Fiona dipped her head, not meeting the King’s eyes. Her face crumpled in what looked like pain, though it could have been resolve; “It would be madness not to accept this offer, Herald. We thank you for this chance, and my people will be ready to depart for Haven. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

“I hope not, Fiona,” Xander said, his tone grave. “We should depart Redcliffe Castle, however. I believe we have taken enough of Arl Teagan’s hospitality.”

The aforementioned Arl twisted his lined, if handsome, face with disgust. Fiona glided off to meet with her people and prepare them for the journey. The Queen gazed between Alistair and Xander for a moment before she stood on tiptoe to whisper something into his ear. Alistair softened slightly, leaning into her touch, before he walked off with Arl Teagan to inspect the castle. 

“Herald,” the Queen asked softly, folding her hands before her. “If I may have a moment?”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Xander replied with a bow, though he did wince when it pulled at his injuries. Iris almost protested—he needed healing; now was not the time for more speeches and talks. Xander regarded her silently and she held her tongue but followed him to make sure he did not cause further damage.

“Please, Herald,” the Queen said softly, patting his shoulder lightly. Xander jumped at the contact, and Iris gazed at her with wide eyes. “In this case, call me Lynn. And no need to exercise such formality; you are injured, after all.”

“My thanks, your Maj—Lynn,” Xander sighed gratefully. “How may I help you?”

“Walk with me?” Lynn asked, gazing pointedly at Iris. Whether the gaze was meant to discourage her from following or not Iris didn’t care. She felt a surge of emotion that refused to allow her brother out of her sight.

“Where I go, she goes,” Xander answered, his voice brooking no argument. Iris gave him a small smile but faltered when he did not return it. There was that darkness in his eyes again, though it seemed more pained than angry now.

“My apologies for presuming,” Lynn placated. “Still, walk with me? Of course your little envoy may accompany us.”

Xander offered the Queen his arm, and though she rested her hand at the crook of his elbow, it was clear she was supporting him more than he was escorting her. Iris followed, frantic. He didn’t need to be walking with the Queen, he needing healing and rest! _And_ she had to know why he wouldn’t look at her without that… _haunted_ expression in his eyes. It was certainly a fair bit better than no eye contact at all, despite what could only be described as trauma lining his whole face. So caught up was she in her thoughts, she nearly crashed into the Queen when she stopped them by a window. Xander turned towards the sun like a daisy, a relieved sigh deflating his posture as he let the warmth seep into his skin. Iris suddenly—and very badly—wanted to reach out to him. 

“Forgive me, Herald, but I figured this conversation should be private,” Lynn said firmly, though not unkindly. It seemed to be the Queen’s default setting. “I wanted to apologize for my husband’s behavior, first and foremost.”

“An enemy force was entrenched in the most defensible fortress in Ferelden,” Xander replied easily. “Anyone would be stressed, let alone the nation’s leader.”

“Yes, well it goes beyond that,” Lynn retorted, her voice dropping to a low whisper. Iris instantly recognized the shift in posture, the readiness that came with surreptitiously searching every shadow for the gleam of a dagger or the shuffle of enemy boots. “You must know my husband is a Grey Warden.”

“Of course,” Xander said, though his voice was also low and tense. “He fought with the Hero of Ferelden in the Fifth Blight, yes?”

“He was put on the throne by the Hero of Ferelden,” Lynn continued. “We… we never would have met if he wasn’t a Warden, so I am grateful. But something has been troubling him of late, and I think it goes beyond the happenings here at Redcliffe.”

“Please, enlighten me your—Lynn.”

“Apparently, it’s all hush-hush very secret Warden business, so he’s kept that from me,” Lynn answered on a scowl. “But… you must know we’ve lost contact with all Wardens, including the Hero of Ferelden. She’s gone, without a trace.”

“I was aware of the situation,” Xander replied. 

“I’m glad,” Lynn said, a wry grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It seems my husband was not wrong about the Inquisition’s Spymaster. However, as troubling as the absence of the Order is, I believe the Breach is our utmost imperative. I would like to speak at a time that is more convenient.”

“I would be amenable to such a conversation,” Xander replied. 

Lynn cocked her perfectly-groomed eyebrows, and Iris had to agree. Who knew Xander could be so bloody _ceremonious_ when the time came. Lynn chuckled under her breath and pulled a folded parchment from the pockets of her riding trousers; “Here; this is the safest way to send messages to me. Once my husband has calmed down, he will see the benefits of an alliance with your Inquisition; and I should say you could certainly do worse than to have some of the mightiest armies in Ferelden at your back.”

Xander’s lips drew up in a wry grin; “We’ll certainly consider it, your Majesty.”

“Oh, and he was doing so well, too,” Lynn riposted with a shake of her head. “Please be safe, Herald of Andraste. We will be in touch in the coming days, yes?”

“I should hope so.”

Lynn gave a short nod, waving off Xander’s pained attempt at a bow. Iris placed her hand in the space that the Queen’s had occupied and looked up at her brother’s face. He regarded her for a moment and she tried to say something, anything, to chase away the shadows that settled themselves over him.

“So, we should ummm...get you to a healer. But, we did it right? The Mages are free; you freed the Mages.”

“Even if I conscripted the Mages, I would never see you sent away again. I promise you Iris, you will never have to go back to a Circle if you do not want to.”

“I think...I’d like to stay in Haven a little longer. Alyx is there and…”

Xander smiled at her for a moment and she smiled in return. It was a start, one that she hoped would not come back to bite her in the ass.

~~~

“It’s not a matter for debate,” Cullen spat, pacing frantically. Xander massaged his temples while he watched the Commander proceed to come unravelled at the seams. “There will be abominations among the Mages, and we _must_ be prepared.”

Xander peeked over his shoulder, catching Iris’s gaze. He rolled his eyes playfully, some of the tension from Redcliffe having dissipated. He was grateful for her tiny, barely-suppressed giggle. Josephine, on the other hand, did not seem amused. At all. 

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition seem incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst,” the ambassador spat. “And with no word out of Therinfal—”

“The Therinfal team hasn’t reported yet?” Cullen exclaimed, whirling on Josephine, who took a step backwards.

“Easy, Commander,” Xander put out a placating hand, wincing when the stitches on his stab wound pulled a bit. They didn’t have skilled Spirit Healers in their ranks yet, so he was forced to rely on more traditional methods. “You give the Mages too little credit. They seemed… eager to repent.”

“They also seemed eager to ally with a Tevinter magister!” Cullen retorted. 

“That wasn’t really their fault,” Xander countered. “If we’re being totally fair.”

A muscle in Cullen’s jaw twitched, like he was grinding his back teeth. Leliana let out a musical little giggle; “Careful, Commander. Your Templar is showing.”

Cullen shot Leliana a playful scowl, but Xander didn’t miss the small intake of breath behind him. He caught Iris’s eye over his shoulder again, and he froze. The girl may have shown a penchant for throwing fireballs at anyone who looked at her funny, but at the moment, her gaze could have frozen a man solid in an instant. A bevy of emotions, from anger to betrayal, flitted over her face, but she did a remarkable job of burying them. 

“Listen,” Xander interjected. “I understand your concerns.”

“With the veil torn open,” Cullen began, an edge of fear creeping into his voice. “The threat of possession—”

“I _understand_ your concerns,” Xander interrupted, holding up his hand for silence. He resisted the urge to grin smugly when it worked—he would have to use that trick again sometime. “I do, Commander. I am not blind, nor am I stupid. We will keep an eye on them, but I _refuse_ to begin in a place of ‘guilty until proven innocent’. Do I make myself clear?”

Cullen’s mouth snapped closed with a click; “Thoroughly. My apologies, Herald.”

“No need to be so contrite, Cullen,” Xander amended, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“No, I understand,” Cullen replied easily. “I was letting… old prejudices rule.”

“Ah, unity,” a familiar voice called from the shadows. Dorian emerged, once again sauntering like he was preening for an audience. “And here I was, just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Xander nodded to acknowledge Dorian’s presence before turning back to his advisors; “Closing the Breach is going to take a lot of Lyrium, especially if Emma and Alyx return with the Templars in time.”

“We have legitimate supply-lines,” Cullen interjected, somehow visibly bristling. 

“I can also see about negotiating some other sources,” Josephine offered. “I was actually hoping Iris would help me? I could use some assistance in this matter.”

“What? Me?” Iris perked at the mention of her name. “Why?”

“The Herald mentioned how well you handled the troublesome situation in Redcliffe,” Josephine answered. “You would be uniquely qualified to handle this particular matter.”

Iris’s mouth was open in a little ‘o’ of surprise. Xander shot her what he hoped was a reassuring grin, and she smiled brightly; “Okay! Sure!”

“Fantastic,” Josephine replied evenly. “Now we just need—”

Xander never found out what Josephine needed, because at that moment, a runner came barrelling through the doors; “Commander, Sister Nightingale. A corps of Templars marches on Haven!”

“The Templars?” Cullen asked. His expression brightened slightly, though his eyes were still shuttered with suspicion. 

“Yes. The Therinfal team should arrive in Haven momentarily!”

“How momentarily?” Xander asked. “I don’t—”

Again, it appeared the day for dramatic entrances as Emma and Alyx sauntered into the room. They were smeared with dirt and road dust; Emma’s gleaming Templar breastplate was spattered with familiar ichor, but despite that, she was grinning ear to ear. 

“We return!” Emma shouted exuberantly. “And we’re successful!”

“You saved the Templars,” Xander sighed with relief. 

“Unfortunately,” said Alyx, but she smirked at Emma as she spoke.

“Well, thank the Maker you’re back,” Xander said.

“Back with Templars,” Emma reiterated. “I take it with your safe return and the gaggle of Mages I saw on the way in, you managed to secure the allegiance of the Rebellion?”

“It was hard won,” Xander replied with another weary sigh. “But yes, we managed.”

“Hard won, my ass,” Emma riposted. It appeared she was riding high on too much adrenaline. “We had to defeat an Envy demon.”

“We had to travel a year into the future,” Dorian countered flippantly. 

“It’s not a contest, Dorian,” Alyx replied too evenly. She was absolutely mocking him. “But if it were, we still would have won.”

“Alright, children, that’s enough,” Xander chided. “Emma, how long until your Templars can be here?”

“They aren’t _my_ Templars,” Emma gasped with mock horror. “The main body should be here within a couple hours, but the Templars had numbers across Thedas. There will be some who won’t be here for weeks, yet.”

“You traveled a year into the future?” Iris asked, her eyes widening.

_Fuck_ , Xander thought, barely holding back the curse through gritted teeth. He turned to her, trying to school the still-fresh-but-not-quite-fresh grief out of his expression; “Sorry, Iris, I assumed you’d read the report. Yes, Dorian and I saw… some things.”

“Same here,” Emma replied. 

“This Elder fucker plots to kill Empress Celene,” Alyx added. 

“I don’t think I’d call him an ‘Elder Fucker’, which assumes he is a fucker of Elders,” Emma said. “But yes, what she said.”

“You two need to get some sleep, or something,” Cullen muttered under his breath.

“What did you see? Was I there? Was that why you were covered in Maker knows what after mere moments?” Iris interjected.

Xander drew in a sharp gasp; his whole demeanor stiffened. His felt his eyes glaze over as the bright, smiling, curious girl standing before him morphed into a deformed monster in his mind’s eye. 

_Please, Brother, the song… I can’t. It’s so loud… it hurts! Please, don’t leave me…_

“We did not come across your future self dear Iris, though your brother did try to find you in the cells,” Dorian said, smoothly breaking the tension.

Xander felt the strain roll off his shoulders, though it took a moment to shake the image. He chose to stick to facts. No need to go back to that place; “The Elder One intends to raise a Demon Army. Beyond that, we don’t know much of his plan save the total destruction of Thedas.”

“The assassination of Empress Celene?” Leliana mused. “A Demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian explained. “Orlais falls; the Imperium rises! Chaos for everyone!”

“One battle at a time!” Cullen pleaded. “It will take time to organize our troops, the Templars _and_ the Mage recruits. We should adjourn to the War Room when you’re ready for us, Herald. None of this means anything without your Mark.”

“Oh, who needs sleep anyway,” Xander sighed. 

Cullen chuckled under his breath; “What is it they say? No rest for the wicked? Knight Enchanter, if you’ll join me? I could use another seasoned soldier to see to the assault, and the Templars may well answer to you.”

“Of course, Commander,” Emma answered. 

“And Alyx, if I may speak to you in private,” Leliana asked. “There is something we need to discuss.”

Alyx frowned slightly, but nodded. “I’m all yours,” she said with a wry smile.

“How’s your penmanship, Iris?” Josephine fell into step next to her. “I could use your assistance on correspondence.”

“I don’t know; I mean no one ever really commented on it. But I have been told it’s neat and tidy. Is that what you are looking for?”

Josephine chuckled; “Neat and tidy will be miles better than the Commander’s correspondence, and if it’s better than the Herald’s henscratch all the better.”

“Hey!” Xander gave a faux-wounded expression, but indicated the direction of Josephine’s office with a jerk of his chin and a wink.

They walked away towards Josephine’s office, but Iris stopped halfway down the hall and came back towards him tentatively.

“Xander?”

“Yes?”

“You should... you should sleep. You’ve been at this for some time and you need rest. So, go to sleep...right now...please.”

Xander felt something sweet twist in his chest. He could never say no to those bright, green eyes, and he was touched by her concern. He reached forward to brush back that pretty black hair but, at the last moment, thought better of it. She took a deep breath and smiled before brushing her hand against his gently; she walked away then, but not before looking back at him and sternly pointing in the direction of his bed. He shot her a mock salute, one he remembered keenly, and idly wondered if she recognized it. 

“I’ll skip the War Council,” Dorian said, making Xander jump. “But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

“Then,” Xander began, feeling a little thrill he didn’t much care to examine at the moment. “You’re staying?”

“Oh didn’t I mention?” Dorian jested. “The South is so _charming_ and _rustic._ I adore it to little pieces.”

“I must admit, I’m a bit shocked,” Xander offered. 

Dorian sobered quickly, straightening from his leaned position; “We both saw what this Elder One and his cult are trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible; some of us have fought for eons against this sort of madness. It is my duty to stand with you, and if I have my way, that future will not come to pass.”

“There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with,” Xander said, placing a companionable hand on Dorian’s bare shoulder. He couldn’t stop himself from skimming his thumb over the slight ridge of his collarbone, the warm softness of his skin a stark contrast to Xander’s swordsman’s calluses. “Future or present.”

Xander must have been blushing to the tips of his ears, because Dorian’s smirk became wry and somewhat knowing, though Xander’s ego chose to believe the slight flush across Dorian’s cheeks wasn’t his imagination; “Excellent choice. But let’s… not get stranded any time soon, yes?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Xander chuckled. With _great_ self control, he removed his hand from Dorian’s shoulder, tearing his eyes away from the brush of firelight against the golden skin. 

“Perhaps you should take that nap Iris ordered,” Dorian suggested. Xander near jumped out of his skin when Dorian brushed the long, dark hair out of his eyes, though he appeared to be more focused on his dark circles than anything else. “You look awful, and I’d hate to see that little girl angry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! We're posting on a Friday!!! When broody took a look at our backlog and realized some of her best stuff wasn't coming up until... a very long time from now, we started discussing posting three chapters a week. So we're experiementing a bit and seeing what comes of it. This may or may not be a regular thing. 
> 
> Let us know in the comments if you like a thrice-weekly update schedule! We want your opinions loyal readers!
> 
> As a note: Thank you so much to those of you who've read this and commented and left kudos!! It always makes our day and it fuels us on a fundamental level.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of blood and mild violence

Alyx stared up at the enormous vortex of green that was the Breach. 

_Fuck, that thing is_ huge.

She’d avoided venturing near it in her time at Haven. It had a sort of terrifying beauty to it, sure, but it set her teeth on edge. This close… shit, the thing looked like it took up the whole _sky_. Standing in the center of the ruined temple, Xander looked so small. 

The mages and Templars formed a line around the perimeter, with Alyx, Emma, and Iris standing side by side between the two groups. Alyx grit her teeth and took a deep breath, holding her staff ready. 

“Mages! Templars!” Cassandra called, drawing attention.

“Focus past the Herald,” Solas instructed. “Let his will draw from you!”

Xander walked slowly forward, left hand raised towards the Breach. The strange, green energy crackled towards him, connecting with the mark in his hand. A nervous knot formed in Alyx’s chest as she watched him proceed; he was completely surrounded now by the otherworldly green light, illuminated by it. 

The Templars raised their swords in unison before driving them into the ground before them, sending forth a rush of energy that prickled the hairs on Alyx’s neck. The mages did likewise with their staves, and Alyx followed suit, slamming her staff down into the rubble. She locked her eyes on Xander, focusing her mana forward, feeling it connect with the tumultuous swirl of energy where her cousin now stood. 

For a tense moment everyone watched Xander struggle, appearing to be pulled forward by the energy arcing towards his hand, but then he dug his feet in, clenched his fist and _pulled—_

A pulse of blinding green light exploded outwards from the Breach, and Alyx was blown backwards by the resulting shockwave. The wind was knocked out of her as she landed, and she stared blankly for a minute, dazed, before a hand was thrust out before her. Emma. Alyx grasped her hand and let herself be pulled up, giving a sharp nod of thanks. 

Alyx glanced up _—_ the sky was calm, the eerie green light of the Breach all but gone. Around them, mages and Templars alike were letting out whoops of celebration, but Alyx, Emma and Iris rushed forward, staring desperately towards the center of the temple. 

The dust settled, and there Xander was, looking a bit weary perhaps but pushing himself to his feet and walking back towards them.

Alyx let out a sigh of relief and grinned at Iris and Emma. She gave Emma an affectionate punch in the shoulder as she threw an arm around Iris.

“Well, I think this calls for a drink. What about you guys?”

~~~

While Haven certainly wasn’t peaceful, it was merry. Xander gazed down at the happy people with too much drink in their systems dancing their simple dances. Celebration this night was straight-forward and abundant. It had been a victory, despite the swirling scar hovering above the mountain. Even the stiff and largely humorless Cullen was about, mostly discussing something with Emma, it seemed, with—Maker, was that a _smile_ on his face?

_Knowing those two it’s a heated debate about siege tactics and armor polish._

Iris and Alyx were talking over drinks, Iris laughing at what had to be a dirty joke by the smirk on Alyx’s face. As jealous as he felt of his younger cousin, he was happy. He’d always worried about Iris, and when she was thrust into this world, he couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t ready. He had no right to be as protective as he was, but he saw the little girl who’d clung to him and cried when the Templars took her from her big brother. He longed to fill that role again—he _missed_ her—and yet, he’d spent the better part of the last few days pushing her away.

“Solas has confirmed the Heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed.”

Xander jumped. Having been so caught in his personal melancholy, he hadn’t even heard Cassandra approach; “Maker, Cassandra, you scared me.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t realize the fabled Herald of Andraste could be snuck upon by a lumbering warrior, such as myself,” she chuckled. Her cheeks were tinged pink; she sobered quickly, but her voice was still thick with mirth. “We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain. But this was a victory.”

Xander narrowed his eyes—yes, it was a victory. It came at cost, but a large portion of the Templars had been brought into the fold, and soon the Mages would start trickling back in. It really couldn’t have gone better; “This was too easy.”

“You aren’t confident?” Cassandra asked. 

“To be honest, no. This all seems a bit convenient, and we still don’t know who this Elder One is,” Xander replied, scuffing the toes of his boots against the snow. 

Cassandra tapped her lips with the ends of her fingers; “That may be true. But remember this was a victory of alliance—the first in a long time. And that alliance will need new purpose. You brought us together, Xander. Never forget that.”

“Excuse me?” a small voice asked somewhere behind them.

Xander whirled, freezing in place when he saw Iris with her earnest eyes and her shy smile. Cassandra smirked knowingly; “I will leave you two.”

Xander opened his stance a bit, turning towards his baby sister (he had to stop thinking of her that way) and sticking his hands in his pockets. His thumb brushed against the little, velveteen nug stuffed into his coat; he felt a twist in his chest when he clutched the tiny toy in his hand. 

“I was there, today,” Iris began softly. “When you closed the Breach.”

“I wish you weren’t!” he replied. “It was… it was dangerous.”

Iris rolled her eyes, but the smirk playing on her lips took a lot of the sting out; “Well, it was fine, wasn’t it? Almost too easy, I would say.”

Xander snorted under his breath, his anxiety forgotten; “Maker, Iris, you may as well say ‘what could possibly go wrong’ or ‘things couldn’t possibly get any worse’.”

She giggled, giving a similarly undignified snort; “You don’t think our luck will hold out, despite my claims?”

“Not if you keep pushing it!” Xander retorted, shoving her shoulder playfully (if gently).

She laughed at that—a full-blown, bright-eyed, belly laugh. He felt a twinge of nostalgia, and he realized he would give his last copper for her to always be as happy and free as she was in that moment. He squeezed the little toy in his pocket, and he must have been too obvious, because she immediately picked up on it. 

“What are you fussing with?” she asked. “Favor from a _lady friend_?” 

Xander sputtered a bit, struggling to answer, before her playful smirk stopped him; “You’re teasing me.”

“Well, of course. If _I_ can’t tease you, then who can? Also, you’re avoiding the question.”

Xander sighed—nothing to do about it now—and pulled the old toy, gray with age, out of his pocket. Despite how old it was, and how well-loved it was, it was still soft under his hands. The stuffed nug used to be pink, with little black button eyes, but one of the buttons had popped off years ago, and the pale pink velveteen couldn’t stand up to the constant handling. Considering the noises she’d made on the way to Redcliffe when a nug would cross their path, he’d expected her to squeal or shout, but she seemed subdued. 

“He seems… familiar,” she mused, scrutinizing the stuffed toy like it was a difficult but crucial problem to be solved. 

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’?” Xander teased. He stopped his thumb from unconsciously from rubbing up and down the seam on its back. 

“I just… I don’t know,” Iris mumbled. “But something—”

They were interrupted by the sound of an alarm bell from the mountains and a commotion by the gate. Xander tugged on the strap holding the greatsword in place, comforted by the weight. He turned to Iris and took her hand in his, turning the palm upward, and closing her fingers around the stuffed nug; “Take care of him for me?”

“Xander, he obviously means a lot to you,” Iris protested. “I couldn’t—”

“Humor me?” he asked, trying to smile reassuringly. He felt a thrill of relief when her fingers tightened on the toy; barely suppressing the urge to press a kiss to her forehead, he darted off for the gates. 

~~~

Iris stood dumbfounded, clutching the stuffed nug in her fingers. Despite its age, it was still velvet-soft to the touch and in surprisingly good condition. The flurry of activity around her turned into a blur—a soft hum in the back of her mind. Something inside her fairly _screamed_ for her attention. Something familiar…

She nuzzled the little toy against her cheek and was fairly assaulted by sudden _smells_ :

_The Fereldan flowers Mother kept in a vase on the pianoforte; the scented candles the maid preferred; the tea cakes Mother ordered baked on Sundays… the ones that Xander would sneak for her when Mother wasn’t looking; the fresh spring grass under her feet as she chased Xander through the grounds; freshly-laundered linens wrapped around tiny shoulders; the clean burning wood-smoke of the hearth in her nursery; Father’s pipe tobacco…_

And with the smells came memories:

_“I apologize, little miss, but you can't take him,” the Templar said, not unkindly._

_“No!” Iris wailed, clutching a well-loved Mr. Nuggles to her heart. “I have to take Mr. Nuggles! He's my best friend!”_

_“Dear, leave the toy here,” her mother demanded coolly. She reached and plucked the doll from her daughter's hands, much to the child's chagrin._

_“No, Mama! Please! Let me take him!” She was sobbing now, though it had little to do with a stuffed nug._

_“I'm sorry,” the young Templar said. “I wish you could...”_

_“I hate you!” Iris shrieked. “You can't take me.”_

_“Iris.” She felt a soft, small hand in her hair. She whirled on her brother; his long, black hair was caught in a tail. His green eyes were filled with tears. He was a little older than her, almost a teenager, and she launched herself at him. She wrapped her little arms around his chest, sobbing into his fine tunic._

_“'Xander! I can't leave Mr. Nuggles!” she cried. “I just can't. He'll be lonely without me!”_

_“Iris,” he whimpered, holding her tightly, like he never wanted to let her go. “I will take care of him, I promise. But you have to go have your first big adventure! I'll have adventures too, and when we're grown up, I'll give back Mr. Nuggles, OK? I promise!”_

_“I love you, 'Xander,” Iris hiccuped, smiling a big grin with a missing tooth in the front. Just the other day, she'd been so excited for losing her first baby tooth; she was a big girl now._

_“I love you too, Iris,” he whimpered, desperately fighting the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. “Please be safe, OK? Be good for me?”_

It took a moment for Iris to realize that the dampness on her cheeks was not, in fact, rain, but her own tears. She pawed at them clumsily, but they were instantly replaced. She couldn’t say Alexander when she was little. She would trip over the second syllable every time, so she called him Xander. And he… he still went by the abbreviation. She’d forgotten…

The bells drew her attention once again, and she hurried to the gate, taking care to tuck Mr. Nuggles into her pockets, lest he be forgotten again. 

~~~

Xander was one of the last to arrive. The people taking refuge in Haven were milling about in panicked clusters, while soldiers got into position. Cullen was barking orders at his men, Emma was shouting at the battle-ready Mages, and the Templars were schooling themselves in and around the other forces. If he’d had the time, Xander might have marvelled at the army they’d acquired. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra asked, jogging down the rise with Josephine and Leliana in tow. 

“One watchguard reporting,” Cullen replied gravely. “There’s a massive force; the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked.

Cullen’s eyes tightened and his jaw twitched; “None.”

“None?” Josephine exclaimed. 

Xander approached the gate; the sounds of chaos on the other side spiked his anxiety, and he resented the earlier peace for how easily it shattered. He was ready to turn to Cullen, take any desperate plan the man could come up with, and run with it before a loud _bang_ and a flash or orange light sent the lot of them recoiling from the protesting wooden doors. 

“I can’t come in unless you open!” 

“Yes, that’s largely the idea,” Xander mumbled under his breath. He quirked an eyebrow and nodded at the guards by the gate. On the other side, surrounded by a ring of dead Venatori (they certainly looked like Venatori, with their spiky armor and full-mask helms) was a tall, thin young man. His features were largely obscured by a floppy brown hat, but the wicked daggers slick with blood told Xander everything he needed to know. He’d have felled the boy where he stood had it not been for Emma and Alyx. 

“Holy shit, it’s Cole!” Alyx exclaimed, rushing forward to stand at his side. “Funny, I had forgotten about him…” 

“So, he was real?” Emma asked.

“Looks like it,” Alyx replied. “I thought he was… a Fade construct, or something.”

“Same,” Emma answered. 

“Good,” the boy (Cole) sighed. “They remember. I’m Cole; I saw them at Therinfal. I came to help. People are coming to hurt you.”

“What’s going on?” Xander demanded. “How do you know Emma and Alyx?”

“He helped us at Therinal,” Emma said. “He’s… he’s the reason we survived; of that I am sure.”

“Listen to him, Xander,” Alyx added. “We can… well, trust is a strong word. But he means well.”

“The Templars,” Cole interrupted. “And the Venatori. Or what’s left of them. They come to kill you.”

“What?” Cullen snarled, gripping his sword tightly. “We brought the Order into the fold! And the Herald stopped the Venatori’s plans at Redcliffe!”

Emma shook her head; “There were Templars going Red _before_ I left to seek Inquisition support.”

“And the Venatori must have existed before Alexius came to Redcliffe. We have no way of knowing how widespread the cult is,” Alyx added.

“What was left went to the Elder One,” Cole continued. “You know him? He knows you. You took his Mages and weakened his Templars. And now he’s here to hurt you.”

“Who is this Elder One?” Xander snapped. “Where can I find him?”

Cole turned, raising his arm smoothly towards top of the mountain; “There.”

Xander gazed helplessly towards the mountaintop, but saw nothing but the throngs of torches cutting through the trees. Cullen reached into the pockets of his coat and removed a spyglass; his breath caught in his throat; “Maker preserve us… it’s Samson!”

Xander took the spyglass from his Commander, pointing towards the peak; a woman in Tevinter robes and a tall, thin man (Samson?) flanked what could only be described as a horror. Sickeningly long limbs with deformed, clawed hands were enough, but the exaggerated thinness of the figure combined with the mangled face drawn taut over red lyrium crystals completed the nightmare. _The Elder One_ …

“Cullen, give me a plan. Anything,” Xander pleaded, handing the spyglass back. 

“Haven is no fortress,” Cullen intoned gravely, pocketing the glass. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. We’ll use everything we have… every asset. The Trebuchets should do the trick.”

“Bury them,” Emma murmured. “I like it.”

“Emma, assemble the battle-ready Mages,” Xander ordered, drawing his blade. “Give them the authority to act; protect Haven, get the people to safety. Cullen, assemble the Templars and Soldiers. Do what you have to do. Iris, I need you to get up to the Chantry and _protect it._ Alyx, Dorian, Varric, you’re with me.”

“As you command,” Emma replied, rapping her fist over her heart in a solemn salute before turning on her heel. “Mages! With me!”

“Xander!” Iris shouted. He turned towards her, recoiling slightly at the stubborn set of her face. “You can’t just stick me in the Chantry and hope for the best! I can be _useful_ out here, and I am a member of the Inquisition, like it or not!”

“I’m _not_ just sticking you in the Chantry!” Xander retorted angrily. Trying to gentle his voice, he rested a companionable hand on her shoulder. “Iris, I need you to protect people. The Chantry is going to be our last line; it’s where everyone who _can’t_ fight needs to be, and I would place them in no one else’s care. Be safe, little sister, and when we see each other again, it will be in celebration of our victory.”

A muscle twitched in Iris’s jaw, and for a moment she looked like she might protest, but she nodded and started hurrying back towards the Chantry. Cullen adjusted his blade in his hands before turning to his men; “Templars! You have sanction to engage; that man is Samson, and you know he will not make it easy! Inquisition! With the Herald; for your lives! For all of us!”

Xander spared one more look for his team before they set off for the Trebuchets—their one hope for victory.

~~~

_Ten. Ten Mages are battle-ready. I can’t believe it._

Emma shook her head sharply—there was no time to worry about the fact that she had _ten Mages_ out of the hundreds that came from Redcliffe. She had no time to worry about the few Mages she had were equipped with light robes instead of armor. _Fuck,_ she had no time to worry about her breastplate and armor currently taking residence on Harritt’s workbench, so she was only equipped with a coat and breeches herself! No matter… She had ten Mages ( _fucking ten)_ who were trained in the Primal schools, and she would use them to her best ability. 

Step one—keep things under control. Given the situation, she figured she was going to do her best with step one. 

Step two—get the ones specializing in fire _away from the thatched roofs;_ “Anyone specializing in fire, to the front!” 

Three stepped forward—good. Fire was dangerous. Fire could _hurt._ She could deal with this, so she could move onto step three—-Barriers. Get them up, get them reinforced. 

“Who here can make a decent barrier?” she called, pacing up and down the line, following her own footprints in the snow. One stepped forward, and even then, he was so young—barely out of his Harrowing it seemed—he probably had the most basic skill. “ _Fuck!_ ” The kid jumped so high, she knew she swore out loud, and she vowed to spend less time with Alyx. Apparently, she was a bad influence on her. 

“Alright,” Emma called bringing herself back to the battle. There was no time before this, there was no time guaranteed after. Survive from moment to moment. Those were the lessons she was taught. “Our orders are clear! Keep the villagers safe! If you find soldiers fallen, heal them if you can, move on if they’re gone. We _must_ support the Herald! You have sanction to act; tonight, you are Battlemages! Now let’s _move_.”

Emma divided them into two teams—it was all she could do; there was too much ground to cover for them to move in a pack—and set off for the village perimeter. She sent the kid and his team into the village proper, hoping they would only find stragglers or forward scouts. Of course, that hope died the moment they came across one of the forward teams—Venatori enchanters, supported by Red Templars. Some of them were still recognizably human; others were piles of the red crystals in a vaguely human shape. One had sharp blades where his hands should have been, and he was closing the distance quickly. Emma shored her barrier around her team, stretching it to its limits. 

One of the girls—tall, with skin as black as night and coarse hair in a cloud about her head—wielded fire with such control, she was able to sever the strings on the marksmen’s bows. A small, red-headed elf girl was able to surround the closing creature with a static cage so powerful, Emma could feel its energy crackling against her barrier. A burly young man with dark hair called forth a blizzard like none she had ever seen before. They were _powerful_ , that much was for sure. 

Sadly, they were also inexperienced with the flow of battle. They thought they had the advantage, when really they had the element of surprise, so they pressed. So focused was she on maintaining their barrier, she couldn’t yell to them to _not_ overextend themselves. She tried—oh, Maker, she tried—but all she ended up accomplishing was a faint growl and a wavering of the barrier. 

The Venatori enchanters used this, erecting barriers of their own. One of them summoned a field of fire mines, making the ground below their feet a death trap. The dark-skinned girl drew on this power, wielding fire in her hands like a blade, and the other fire mage (one of the young elf boys) was able to draw in these mines as well, summoning his mana for a firestorm. All Emma wanted to do was shout at them to stop—they were overusing their mana! They wouldn’t make it to the end of this encounter, let alone control the flow of battle or even do what needed to be done, if they didn’t stop this! Unfortunately, the girl maintaining the static cage faltered, and the small, quick red lyrium monster broke free. 

Emma drew her blade, drawing on her fade step. She glided over the mines and circled around the back of the monster. She pulled her barrier in and around herself, drawing on the power of the blizzard still raging around her. She’d gotten the beast’s attention enough so her teammates could conserve their mana. She set her stance, her blade flashing out and catching the thing around the middle. It screamed—a horrible, pained, animal scream—and flew at her. She ground her back teeth as she back pedaled, trying to get some distance. 

The thing was fast. Every slash of her blade was easily dodged, and it took all her concentration and skills to stop it from getting inside her stance. And then, the worst happened. It feinted right—Emma’s weak side—and disappeared in a cloud of acrid smoke. Emma was racked with coughs—she knew what it was doing. She tried to strengthen her barrier, but found her focus to be lacking. She heard the sound of a boot in snow about a second before she felt the blade crash through her barrier, cutting a long line across her side. 

“ _Fuck!”_ she screamed, grasping her hand over the wound. She didn’t have time to assess it, only to swing her blade around with enough force to cleave the thing’s head from its shoulders. It hit the snow with a wet sound, and when the smoke cleared, Emma was grateful it seemed to be the last one. She peered under her fingers and went cold—the wound was _deep._ Dark blood pooled beneath her fingers and soaked her coat, running down her leg. 

“You’re hurt,” the boy who’d summoned the blizzard, which seemed to be dissipating, said. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” Emma snarled, wincing when his gentle fingers pried her hand away. 

“It’s not survivable if I don’t heal it,” he said frankly. His hand ghosted over her wound, and with a gentle press of magic, it stopped bleeding, though the pain didn’t subside. “I’m sorry. It’s going to scar, but there’s not much else I can do. I’m...”

“You’re out of mana, aren’t you?” Emma asked sardonically, extending her arm experimentally. It didn’t pull painfully or tear open, which was a blessing. 

“No,” he replied after a pause. “But almost.”

“What’s your name?” Emma asked, retrieving her Hilt from the snow, brushing it off and tucking it into her belt. 

“Jayce, ma’am,” he answered smartly. 

“Well, Jayce, for now, stick to your staff and let your mana replenish. But I wish you’d told me you were a healer. I would have found a better place for you than the front lines… like up at the Chantry.”

“You didn’t ask, ma’am,” Jayce said sheepishly. 

“Sometimes, you have to anticipate what your Commander needs before she does,” Emma countered frankly. “It’s the truth of being a Battlemage.”

“I’m not a Battlemage, ma’am,” Jayce mumbled. 

“We’ll see,” Emma said on a shrug. “Now let’s get back to work.”

They moved through the enemy, but unfortunately, they were slowing down. Emma had a limited supply of lyrium potions, but she hated the things. Beyond the terrible taste, they sort of invoked an adrenal response, and they tended to hurt more than help in the long run. But these were desperate times, and they had no time for the long run. She issued them quickly, giving them to her two best fighters (the dark-skinned girl, Nirena, and the red-headed elf girl, Marla) as well as Jayce. Jayce was relegated to the back for support and healing duties only. 

Finally, they were able to circle back around to the gates, covered in blood and soaked through with snowmelt, but they were mostly standing. Nirena was able to incapacitate two Venatori with a snap of her wrists and a flare of her staff, which enabled the rest of them to rush forward and help the grooms with the horses. A few dozen fine, Fereldan mounts were rushed out of the paddock and herded back towards the Chantry. It seemed all was going as planned, and they would be able to hold the gate with Cullen. It looked like they might survive. 

Until, of course, the unmistakable sound of huge wings filled the air. 

~~~

Fucking _hell._

This was a complete nightmare. Not ten minutes ago Alyx had been enjoying a nice drink, watching everyone dance and celebrate. She was pretty certain she had whiplash from how quickly things had gone south. 

She scrubbed a hand across her face, shaking her head to clear it. No time to worry about that now; the enemy was upon them. Xander was already out the gate and she rushed after him, spirit blade and staff at the ready. For once, her insistence on keeping her weapons on her person had paid off. Maybe after this people wouldn’t fucking pester her about it so much. Around them, Inquisition soldiers were already facing off with the enemy, but they sped past as quickly as they were able, making for the trebuchets. 

“Herald!” a soldier called as they approached the first trebuchet. “We’re preparing to fire. Keep them off our backs.”

“You heard her,” Xander called. “No one gets near that trebuchet.”

Alyx gave a sharp nod and stepped forward, back to the trebuchet. It was mere seconds before more of the enemy arrived, Red Templars and Venatori alike. Alyx raised her staff and slammed it down, casting a static cage over the path and trapping most of the Templars. A second later, a wall of fire roared to life next to it, blocking the path of the Venatori. She grinned at Dorian’s handiwork. 

Satisfied that they’d thrown their foes off guard, Alyx leapt forward, her spirit blade crackling to life as she charged. The lightning of her static cage crackled across her skin as she entered it, taking out the first of the Templars with one ruthless slash of her blade. 

She rounded on the next one, her blade clashing against his sword, sending crackles of electricity racing along it. He faltered, falling to a knee, and Alyx drove her blade clean through his chest. The others were not so quick to fall for this, circling as Alyx brandished her wicked blade. She lunged, hoping to swipe at the legs where the armor was weaker, but the Templar sidestepped, slamming an elbow into her face with a sickening crunch. 

Oh, fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck_. Alyx staggered, dizzy with pain. Her vision went fuzzy and she lashed out blindly with her blade. She was dimly aware of someone calling her name. The sounds of battle continued around her, a clash of metal on metal somewhere very close. After a moment a hand closed around her arm, and she jumped away.

“Alyx, it’s me!” Xander said, stepping closer. “You’re a mess. Take this,” he said, pressing a potion bottle into her hand. She nodded and pulled the cork off, downing the potion in one swig. She coughed at the bitter taste of the elfroot, but her head cleared almost immediately, the pain dimming to a manageable level. Nothing to be done now for the blood streaming down her face, though. 

“Thanks,” she said.

“Maker, you still look awful. Maybe you’ll scare them away from the trebuchets,” Xander said, pulling a face. Alyx grinned at him. From the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, she knew it must have been some sight, and the expression on Xander’s face only confirmed it.

“I said _them_ , Alyx, not me!” Xander cried. Alyx laughed, turning aside to spit some of the blood from her mouth. 

“Ready to fire, Herald,” called the soldier. “You’d better get to the north trebuchet though; it’s not firing.” 

“Very well,” said Xander. “We’re on our way.”

Alyx fell into step behind him, practically jogging to keep up with his long strides. As they approached the north trebuchet, it became very obvious why it wasn’t firing. It was completely surrounded by Venatori and Red Templars. Any Inquisition soldiers in the area had either fallen or retreated. 

“I knew that last one was too easy,” Varric said, a mechanic click sounding as he loaded Bianca. 

“We have to get that trebuchet firing, or we’ve no chance,” said Xander. “I’m going to go in and get it going; keep them off my back.”

Alyx needed no more direction than that. Spinning her staff, she sent lightning arcing amongst the enemy soldiers, stunning as many of them as possible. Then, she charged. She had to keep their attention long enough for Xander to aim and fire that trebuchet, or all was lost. Varric and Dorian were skilled, but no melee fighters. This was on her. _No pressure._

Her whole body crackled with electricity as she threw herself into the fray, swinging her blade in a wide arc. She dispatched a few of the Venatori quickly, advancing, but _—shit,_ she was going to get blocked in. She swung blade and staff alike wildly, trying to keep them off her. A Red Templar Knight stepped into her path, and with a grin she planted her hand on his breastplate, shoving him backwards and electrocuting him. He faltered for only a moment before advancing again. Alyx crossed her blade and her staff in front of her to block the powerful blow of his sword. Even so, the impact jarred her, and she took a step back. 

Red hot pain blossomed in her side; she cursed violently as she saw a creature that was more red lyrium than man pull its glowing, razor-sharp arm from her side. She threw a hand over the wound, remembering too late the Knight still advancing upon her. She threw her staff up just in time to stop his blow from taking her neck, but his sword found purchase in her arm instead. She cried out, losing her grip on her staff as her arm fell limp. Forget it. The staff gave her control, but she didn’t need control. She inhaled deeply through her mouth, the resonating hum of the electricity she sheathed herself in rising and falling with her breath. She raised her blade high, calling down lightning from the heavens. The bolt connected with her blade, and her heart raced at the energy coursing through her as she channeled it through herself and _out_ in a devastating pulse of energy. 

“Maker’s breath, Alyx!” Xander cried.

“Less talking, more firing,” she slurred, coughing thickly.

“As you command,” Xander said, releasing the trebuchet’s load. It landed solidly halfway up the mountain, and within seconds an avalanche was bearing down on the bulk of the invading army. Xander let out a loud whoop of victory. Alyx allowed herself a grin, and spat more blood onto the snow-covered ground. 

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, approaching her with concern in his eyes.

“S’worse than it looks,” she said, even as she winced and held a hand over her side. “Gonna need a new jacket, though.” She grinned, but Dorian didn’t look convinced. 

Before he could say anything, though, a dreadful roar sounded above them. It was the only warning they received before a massive creature _—_ a dragon? _—_ swooped overhead, spewing a strange, red energy which crystallized violently into red lyrium as it made contact with the ground. The trebuchet exploded and Alyx threw herself out of the way just in time, landing with a pained gasp on her wounded side. 

“What in the name of Andraste’s golden asscrack was that thing?” Varric shouted. 

“I don’t know,” Xander said darkly. “We need to get back to the gates.”

Dorian held out a hand to help Alyx up, and she grabbed it, nodding gratefully at him. She swayed slightly, but hurried after Xander, one hand still clutched to her side. 

“Move it, move it!” Cullen called as they approached the gate. He pulled it shut after them, barring it as securely as possible. “We need everyone back to the Chantry. It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast!” he ordered. “At this point… just make them work for it.”


	14. Chapter 14

Iris began to suspect her brother had given her the easy job after all when only a few forward scouts even made it to the Chantry. She disposed of them quickly, leaving only charred marks where her fireballs connected in their place. Villagers and workers fled into the Chantry one by one. For the moment, it looked like they might actually pull this off. It looked like they would push this Elder One’s forces back, and they would be victorious. 

But then, the sound of huge wings reached her ears, and the ominously large shadow of— _Maker’s Breath, a High Dragon?_ — crossed the clouds, barely illuminated against the moonless sky. Balls of something—fire, maybe—larger than anything Iris could ever dream of conjuring, rained from the sky. The ground shook beneath her feet, and the whole village fell with the sort of silence that only came from an abrupt end of battle. Where once battle cries had filled the air, screams of terror rushed forward to replace them, and Iris saw the shapes and shadows of encroaching enemies from all sides. The buildings—Adan’s little house where he took care of his volatile potions and grenades, the healer's’ hut, everything—went up in flames. The tavern caught like a drought-blighted field in a lightning storm. Tents fell to the fire, if not to the impact of the dragon’s assault, and people _ran._ Iris fled for the Chantry—the Iron Bull and Cassandra fell into step next to her, and Sera took the high ground, peppering any incoming enemies with arrows, but it wasn’t enough. This Elder One commanded greater numbers than she could dream. 

Venatori poured from the forests within the walls of Haven and instantly beset the Chantry. It was their shelter—they knew it was the only building that could hold up to the assault. Iris held her staff in a white-knuckled grip, the wood worn smooth from years of use. It gave her enough control to not do more damage than the blighted dragon. She set her stance, turning her free hand and conjuring a small, concentrated ball of white-hot flame. With a push of energy, she caught a Venatori in the chest, and his robes instantly went up in flames. The man panicked, his screams muffled by his helm, but he dropped his staff and was no longer all that concerned with attacking her. It gave Sera the opportunity to take him out with an arrow through the eye. 

Red Templars came up the pathways, surrounding her on all sides. With a swipe of her leg, she set out a field of Fire Mines before her, their familiar warmth curling along her senses, giving her strength. She felt that special power inside flare and burn, crackling merrily like a well-tended hearth. She breathed in deep through the nose, feeling the little flares in her hands swell with energy. She swirled her hands over her head, pulling fireballs from the very heavens with earth-shaking force. What enemies weren’t caught in the blasts were knocked from their feet. These ones, she was able to simple combust the air around them, setting their clothes alight. She pulled the fires in, dousing the ones that caught on the Chantry doors, the tents, and the dried, winter grass and fed them through her anew.

It appeared, however, there was a Venatori Enchanter with a similar affinity for fire. The man swirled his staff around his body, sending a quick trio of fireballs at Iris. She put out her free hand, gripping her staff for purchase, and was able to absorb the impact of two of the balls, redirecting them at their enemy. The familiar pull of their energy brushed against her senses like a caress as the flames danced to her music. The third, though, came too fast, and was going to swallow her and the area around the Chantry whole. 

However, it appeared the Maker smiled on her that day, for the enemy fireball crashed against a barrier, dissipating uselessly. What sparks Iris couldn’t reabsorb and redirect were doused instantly with a flash of ice magic. Iris whirled in place, grinning manically, when she saw Emma rushing up the rise, spirit blade in one hand. The other hand was raised towards the Venatori, sheathed in white energy. She barked an order at a young man supporting Adan on his shoulders before standing flush with Iris. 

“Fancy fire you have there,” Emma quipped. Iris’s eyes lingered on her torn jacket, blood staining the sturdy leather, but she appeared to be remaining upright without an issue. “You want some back-up?”

“I wouldn’t say no to some assistance,” Iris riposted, dropping into her stance.

For having never worked together, Iris found Emma’s particular brand of teamwork remarkably tolerable. Her barrier really was something to be proud of, shrugging off what enemy attacks Iris couldn’t dissipate or redirect. Any enemy that got in too close got a sound thrashing with that spirit blade of hers. One particular group came in like a battering ram, and Emma simply froze them in place with a short nod. Iris pulled in the burning energy around her, dousing flames and drawing them to her target. With one sharp tug, she detonated a blast in the dead center of the group, sending the frozen bodies sprawling, never to rise again. 

“In one piece?” Emma asked, rubbing her hand absently over her injured side. 

“Yes,” Iris answered. “Oh, Maker! Emma, you’re hurt! You’re _bleeding!_ ”

“It looks a lot worse than it is,” Emma assured, though she winced and grasped at the wound again. “Not saying it's not bad, but Jayce is a better healer than he gives himself credit for.”

“Jayce?”

“Not important,” Emma replied with a flippant wave of her hand. She jerked her chin down the path, four figures running flat out for the Chantry doors. “Looks like our dear Herald pulled out another impossible victory.”

Iris saw the broad figure of her brother coming through the smoke and debris, and she nearly burst into tears; both Alyx and Xander were upright and moving, and despite Alyx’s blood-soaked front, the hand clutched to her side, and Xander clearly favoring his left leg, they appeared whole and hale. 

“ _Xander!_ ” she exclaimed. 

“I’m okay,” he interrupted, holding out a placating hand, limping to the doors to rap sharply against them. 

Cole and Roderick were there to throw the doors open for them and the last remaining villagers. Roderick, his face mottled with bruises and his breath a thin, raspy gurgle, beckoned frantically; “Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!”

He only managed those few words as they brushed past him into the relative safety of the Chantry before he collapsed in a heap. Before he hit the stones, Cole reached out to support him on his thin shoulders; “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

Roderick gave a thin, humorless chuckle as Cole lowered him to a seat; “What a charming boy.”

It also appeared that whatever force that kept Alyx moving ran out at that moment, because she pitched forward, her face only saved from further damage by Emma hoisting her into a general upright position. Iris wrung her hands together, taking in the scene around her. There were plenty of people crammed into the Chantry, but not as many as before the attack. Xander seemed to be thinking largely along the same lines, if the slouch of his shoulders was anything to go by. 

“Herald!” The Commander hurried from around a corner, his voice frantic. “Our positioning is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” Cole intoned gravely. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t _care_ what it looks like!” Cullen exclaimed. “It’s cut a path for that army! They’ll kill _everyone_ in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t _care_ about the village!” Cole pressed. “He only wants the Herald!”

Iris felt the bottom of her stomach drop out, and it only got worse when she felt Xander stiffen next to her. He sighed deeply; “If it will save the villagers, he can have me.”

“No! No you can’t! Don’t you dare go out there!” Iris shrieked suddenly. Xander jumped slightly, giving what she assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile before clapping her on the shoulder. 

Cole shook his head; “It won’t help. He wants to kill you—no one else matters, but he’ll crush them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like—” Cullen scoffed under his breath before turning back to Xander. “Herald. There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche; we could turn the remaining trebuchets—cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun,” Xander countered. “To hit the enemy we’d have to bury Haven!”

“We’re dying,” Cullen said, frankly and without emphasis or room for debate. “But we get to decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

There was a strange, unplacable expression in Cullen’s eyes—like he’d stared this choice in the face before. A shard of ice wedged itself at the base of Iris’s spine. _Oh, Maker,_ they were all going to die here! Buried by snow, or crushed by this Elder One. She shivered and wrapped her arms tight across her chest. She caught Roderick shifting out of the corner of her eye. He was staring into the middle distance; Cole followed his gaze. 

“Yes, that,” Cole whispered before turning to Xander and Cullen. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies!”

“There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the Summer Pilgrimage, as I have,” Roderick explained. He was having even more trouble getting his breath, but he still levered himself unsteadily to his feet. “The people _can_ escape. She must have shown me—Andraste must have shown me so I could te—tell you.”

“What are you on about, Roderick?” Xander snapped, his voice frantic with what could only be described as hope. 

“It was whim that I walked the path,” Roderick wheezed. “I didn’t mean to start; it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know. If this simple memory could save us… this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more!”

Xander steadied the man until Cole could support him on his shoulders. Xander turned towards Cullen; “How about it, Cullen? Would it work?”

“Possibly,” Cullen mused. “ _If_ he shows us the path. But… what of your escape?”

Xander looked away. He said nothing, and there was resolve in his eyes, and Iris recognized that look. It was the same look he had when he’d approached the Breach, or walked into Redcliffe castle. It was the look of a man who didn’t expect to live to sunrise. 

“Take my sister and my cousins, Cullen,” Xander ordered, obviously fighting the tears at the corners of his green eyes. “I… I leave them in your care.”

“Perhaps you will surprise it,” Cullen replied, the optimistic message at odds with the grief penetrating his voice. “Find a way.”

Iris could only stare. Her voice was gone. Cullen was ordering people through the back doors, Roderick at the fore. She felt frozen to the spot—her limbs had stopped moving. Cassandra, Dorian, Iron Bull and others tried to stand at Xander’s side, but he sent each of them away with a fond clasp of forearms. Cassandra wore her grief plainly, and Dorian had a completely unreadable expression. Xander hefted his weapon and turned towards the door. Iris’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched him shrink from her. He turned at the last moment, shooting her a bereft, brittle smile. 

“I’m sorry, Iris. Be good for me,” he said, and then he turned to leave her. Again. 

Iris surged forward—he would _not_ die alone!—but strong arms clasped around her, pulling her to an armored chest. She was held fast until Xander disappeared through the doors. A familiar voice whispered in her ear; “I’m sorry, Iris. We have to go.”

“ _Xander!_ ” She screamed. Tears poured unbidden down her cheeks as his name pulled over and over from her throat. She sounded broken, even to herself, as Cullen dragged her bodily out the door. She fought every step of the way, but she couldn’t compete with his size or his strength. 

_Oh, Maker, he’s going to die. Andraste preserve me, but he’s going to die!_

~~~

Xander moved as a man possessed. Cullen’s final words to him rang in his ears. 

_If we are to have a chance—if you are to have a chance—let that thing hear you!_

He thought of Iris, her broken screams echoing in his ears even now. Was he really hearing her, or was it his wishful thinking? He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much he regretted not coming to find her and running away with her, and to the Void with the consequences! Most of all, he wanted to say how sorry he was. 

But he had no time for regrets, and certainly no room for second guessing. He came out alone, and he only had the time to cut a swath through the enemies to get to the last trebuchets. Slice. Cut. Strike. Shout. Repeat. He was spattered in blood, his shoulders screamed in protest, but before he knew it, he was at the last war machine. And it was surrounded. Colossal mountains of crystal with massive clubs where their hands should have been… they were once men. They weren’t, though, Not anymore. 

Xander let out a mighty war cry, throwing defense to the wind. But it wasn’t like Redcliffe, where he was out of control and in pain. He knew where each enemy was. He was acutely aware of the tingle of magic on the air, and the position of the behemoths, and how close some of those deadly clubs came to taking him out. But something drove him. The knowledge that as long as he was alive—as long as he fought—she was safe...it kept him going. So he fought until his muscles protested with fatigue and he ached bone-deep in places he never knew could ache, until finally, the area was clear and the trebuchet was turned on the mountainside. 

_Now to wait for the signal… when they reach the treeline…_

The field was overcome by an eerie sort of silence as the beating of huge wings filled the air. Xander watched the dragon descend, breathing that strange Red Lyrium fire, and too late he tried to dive out of the way. The force of the attack sent him flying; his ears rang with the impact. He levered himself to his knees, freezing when he felt the hot, acrid breath of the dragon on his back… _the Archdemon_. A deformed figure came through the flames, and if this Elder One was terrifying through a spyglass, he was a literal nightmare up close. He towered over Xander, with too-long limbs, clawed hands, and features deformed by Red Lyrium. 

Despite that, though, he spoke with a smooth, slightly cultured voice; “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“What are you?” Xander demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

_Need to keep him busy. Need to wait until they are above the trees._

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have,” the Elder One mocked. “It is beyond what you are… what I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus. You _will_ kneel.”

Xander tried to circle, or pace, draw this Elder One—Corypheus—out of that horrible stillness. But the dragon snapped at his legs, it’s hot breath causing sweat to bead on his cheeks and forehead. So he stood firm, gritting his back teeth and meeting Corypheus’s gaze evenly. He _had_ to keep him talking, or the people would be doomed and the army would overrun Thedas. And then Iris… 

“This doesn’t make sense! Let me understand!”

“You’re understanding is not required,” Corypheus replied easily, as if they were talking over afternoon tea. He raised an orb in his hands, smooth save for the sinuous carvings in the surface. It flickered with the same green light as the Mark. “If you gain it, consider yourself blessed. I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

_Pain._ White hot and blistering pain. It hurt so much, like his very life force was being pulled out through the flickering mark—this Anchor—and Xander nearly went to his knees. He grasped his wrist, praying to whatever would listen to please make it _stop._

“It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the making, and instead of dying you stole its purpose. I don’t know how you survived, but what marks you as touched—what you flail at rifts—I crafted to assault the very heavens! And you would wield the Anchor to undo my work—the _gall!_ ”

Corypheus closed his hand, and Xander, with a cry of agony, went limp. He fell to his knees, ignoring the Dragon at his back and the flames surrounding him and even the deformed creature before him. All that mattered was the shattering torment running up his left arm. He had half a mind to reach for his fallen sword and cut his arm off at the elbow, just to make it stop. 

“What is this thing mean to do?” Xander wailed. He had to keep talking. He had to keep him busy. _Just until they’re above the treeline._

“It was meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” Corypheus approached, grabbing Xander by the wrist and holding him aloft. Xander drew in a sharp gasp, not able to get enough air to scream properly. His shoulder shrieked in agony, threatening to tear out of his socket as his entire weight dangled from Corypheus’s iron grip. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another—to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption—dead whispers. For a thousand years, I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own—to champion withered Tevinter and correct this Blighted world! _Beg_ that I succeed, for I have seen the Throne of the Gods… and it was empty.”

With an unceremonious flick, Xander was tossed bodily across the field, crashing against the wooden side of the trebuchet with a gasp. He felt the distinctive crack of his ribs breaking, but his right hand closed on the handle of a discarded longsword. He shakily got to his feet, staring down this creature. Just a bit more time…

“The Anchor is permanent,” Corypheus growled, approaching menacingly, flanked by his Archdemon. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again—find another way to give this world the nation— and _god_ —it requires.”

And then Xander saw it—barely visible in the brightness of the fires versus the utter blackness of the night sky, but the flaming arrow fired into the sky was unmistakable. _They made it!_

Xander brought his blade to bear, glowering at Corypheus defiantly; “Your arrogance blinds you. Good to know.”

He brought his foot up, kicking the trigger _hard_. With the deafening sound of many gears grinding into place, the trebuchet launched its load up into the mountains. The terrifying rumble of an avalanche filled the otherwise silent night, and Xander began to run. He had no time to look back, to see if Corypheus would escape or if he would be buried. Xander’s lungs burned, his heart pounded in his chest, and he still kept on. 

It was fruitless, though. Soon, he felt the force of the collision at his back, and he was sent flying, crashing into an area beneath Haven. The remains of the war machine followed im into the darkness, and Xander knew this was the end. Blessedly, he blacked out before he reached the bottom of the pit. 

~~~

The sound of the avalanche was deafening, and the mountain rumbled beneath her feet like a great beast roaring into the night. Emma felt grief tighten and twist in her chest like a fist of ice, but she had no time for it at the moment. Alyx lay bleeding— _dying_ —under her hands, and if she wasn’t so close to the Void as it was, Emma might have throttled her. 

_She’s going to die. You’re going to lose her, like you’ve lost everyone else._

“No, Alyx,” Emma growled stubbornly. “You are _not_ allowed to die here! I will _not_ lose more family! Now _heal,_ you obstinate bitch!”

“Who’re you calling ‘obstinate’,” Alyx groaned.

Emma choked back her disbelieving sob, pressing her healing into Alyx’s body, reaching for the wounds and _begging_ them to close. Her breath came easier, and finally, she opened her eyes. 

“Fuck you, Alyx! Don’t _ever_ do that to me again!” Emma exclaimed, drawing her into a fierce hug, heedless of her small gasp of pain. It would be a while before the aches ebbed away, but for now, she was whole and awake, and for Emma that was enough. “You’re supposed to _tell someone_ when you get caught on the business end of a Templar blade!”

“Oh, stop crying, Princess, it wasn’t that bad,” Alyx jested, though fatigue stole a lot of the sting from her voice. 

“Alyx, you _collapsed._ You were spitting up blood,” Emma retorted. “You were… Maker, I don’t want to think about it. And don’t _you_ start calling me Princess! Bull doesn’t need any more encouragement!”

“Yeah, well, I survived,” Alyx said with a shrug. She gingerly touched her nose when she tried to take a deep breath through it. “Ah, fuck. Guess that Templar fucker really did break my nose.”

“Here, let me see,” Emma ordered. She pressed her thumbs into the side, wincing at the loud _crack_ when it reset, but for the most part, there wasn’t much she could do. “Well, you’re going to have a very fashionable pair of black eyes for the foreseeable future. And I think your nose is crooked forever, _and_ it’s going to hurt like a bitch, but you’ll live. And you’ll be able to breathe through it, Maker be praised. Frankly, I wish I’d gotten a look at it sooner.”

“All things considered, I’ll take a slightly-crooked nose over _death_ any day of the week,” Alyx rejoined weakly. “Maybe it’ll add to my image. Does it make me look roguish and dashing?” 

“Well, you can now tell all the Rebels you got it in a fist fight with a Templar,” Emma offered with a roll of her eyes. “But you’ve _always_ looked roguish and dashing, darling.”

“Don’t say ‘darling’, it makes you sound like Vivienne,” Alyx said. “And you’re just saying that because you’re the one who healed my nose, and you’re trying to convince me you didn’t ruin these good looks.”

“No, you look fabulous,” Emma countered playfully. “Iris, tell her she looks—Iris?”

Emma turned to where, barely a moment before, Iris had sat curled up next to her. Now, she was slowly approaching the Commander, who was deep in conversation with one of Leliana’s scouts. She held a palm full of fire, and she was _seething._

“ _You!_ ” She snarled, pulling back her hand like she was going to throw the fire. 

“Iris, wait!” Emma shouted, scrambling over the snow to get to her cousin. 

“Iris?” Cullen asked, putting his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. Emma knew it wouldn’t be enough—she’d never seen Iris this way. 

“You lyrium-addled, selfish piece of human _filth_ ,” Iris screamed. “How _could_ you? He _trusted you,_ and _you_ told him how to bury himself! You gave him that plan!”

“Iris, wait—” Cullen tried to interject, his eyes lingering on the flame in her palm. 

“You don't care about him! You don’t care about anyone! You see us all as tools to be used and discarded once we’re of no use!”

“Iris, that’s not true!” Emma pleaded, but Iris didn’t turn or react. Her gaze was fixed on the Commander who wouldn’t meet Iris’s eyes. The slope of his shoulders spoke of the guilt he was feeling—he was seeing partial truth in her words, despite their vehemence. 

“Iris, I’m sorry. I didn’t—” Cullen whimpered, schooling his face into something resembling resolve, though his eyes kept fearfully lingering on the ball of flame she threatened him with.

“Fight me you _bloody_ coward! Do your duty, Templar! I'm a mage who is going to kill you, so fight me!”

“I won’t fight you, Iris,” Cullen growled, straightening his shoulders. At this point, they had drawn an audience, and Emma suddenly felt her training kick in. Cullen may not have wanted to fight her, but a couple Templars were giving her the side-eye. Emma swooped in and hooked her arms around Iris, brushing her disruption field gently against Iris’s magic. The little flame sputtered and winked out, but all it did was draw Iris’s attention to the assembled crowd. Emma tried to guide her back to the tent, but whatever Iris had been feeling, it was no longer contained. She fixed her gaze on Grand Enchanter Fiona, Leliana, Cassandra… everyone suddenly became the focus of her ire.

“All of you—every single one of you! This is because of you! All my life I've had to live by everyone else's choices, never my own. I was fine, I was safe, I was happy. You took all of that away from me. With your stupid rebellion. Did you even think of the rest of us when you cast your damn vote for freedom? Did you think for one minute what it would do to us? And _you!”_ Leliana and Cassandra recoiled from her violent snarls.“You spread the rumors about him being the Herald. You did _nothing_ to stop it. You encouraged it— made him the face of your regime! The Elder One came for him because he knew where to find him! I had my brother back. I had my family. I had a chance to make my own choices and you took that away from me. My brother is dead because of all of you!”

The silence in the aftermath of her frantic shouts was all the more deafening. Iris was shaking like a leaf in Emma’s arms, and suddenly they were no longer restraining but embracing. Iris crumpled, sobbing great, broken sobs that echoed off the mountain side. Emma buried her face against Iris’s back, trying to hold back her own tears. In all the chaos, she’d forgotten Xander had sacrificed himself, the big idiot. She wanted to weep for him, to collapse in the snow and hold her cousins until their tears stopped… but now was not the time. 

_He’s gone; just like Ulrich. You’ll be alone again._

“Iris,” Cullen said softly, suddenly closer. He lifted her chin so gently, looking her in the eye. There were tears in his eyes—genuine tears, of remorse and regret and sorrow—and his mouth was flattened into a bereft line. “I am so sorry, Iris. But… I just got a report from a scout, and they said the avalanche has stopped. We’re heading down the mountain now, and we’re going to find him.”

“What?” Iris whimpered, going slack in Emma’s arms. 

“I’m leading the search party,” Cullen explained. “If there is something to find, we will find it. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Iris spat. 

“I’m not,” Cullen retorted fiercely, his hands shaking. He tore his gaze away, glaring at the ominous clouds swirling lower on the mountain. “But I have to go now, if we’re going to find him in this blizzard. Go with Emma; get to the forward camp. We’ll be back soon.”

Cullen stood, nodding once to Emma, before turning towards Haven with Cassandra and a group of trackers. They watched him go until he was well out of the ring of torchlight. Emma helplessly tugged on Iris to get her to move, but she was frozen in place. She was just planning the logistics of bodily dragging her back when a huge body moved into her line of vision. 

The Iron Bull kneeled, placing a giant hand on Emma’s shoulders. The expression is his good eye was tight and sympathetic, though anxiety roiled in his gaze. He swept his arms under Iris’s knees and across her back, cradling her against his chest; “Come on, small one. Let’s get moving.”

Iris collapsed against his chest, clinging to his harness. She went limp in his embrace, running out of strength to do anything but grieve. Emma fell into step next to Bull, putting a hand on his elbow. She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, but she hoped she communicated all she felt in her gaze. 

“No problem, Princess,” he answered with a sardonic grin. 

~~~

Cullen had never felt worse in his life. His head ached, his knees were sore, and now he had an impossible promise to keep. The wind bit him through his leathers and furs, and the snow was piling up to everyone’s knees. But it went beyond physical discomfort. That, he could push away, even use it to focus. No, now the source of his torment was the look of utter betrayal in Iris’s green eyes. He was convinced that no matter what he did, or how he atoned, he would carry that look until the day he died. 

He’d set them an unfeasible task, but an imperative one. They _had_ to find the Herald. He was the only one who could seal rifts, and without him, there wasn’t much of an Inquisition. Cullen mused that maybe _he_ should have been the one to bury Haven, to turn the trebuchet and make his grave in the village. He was a failed Templar. He was a failure as a man, and not even an extraordinary man. He was an addict who _happened_ to have a keen, tactical mind. But he wasn’t special, and yet his actions had buried their one hope. He hoped he could recover enough of the Herald— _Xander’s_ —body to at least raise a pyre. Iris deserved at least that much.

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself,” Cassandra assured him, falling into step next to him. “She was angry and lashing out at an easy target.”

“No, I deserved it, Cassandra,” Cullen retorted, never once taking his eyes from the ground ahead. He squinted at a dark smear against the steadily piling snow. “She was right—I sent her brother to die, and now the best I can hope for is enough for a proper funeral. He… he was our _Herald_ , Cassandra. I should have been—”

“ _No!_ ” Cassandra snapped. “Don’t let yourself go down that path. We cannot undo our decisions; we can only continue with the actions we have taken.”

“I know, Seeker, but he—” Cullen cut off suddenly, throwing out his arm. The wind shifted, and the snow moved just enough. “There! It’s him!” 

Cassandra squinted and saw what he saw—the vague shape of Xander’s broad body against the snow; “Thank the Maker!”

Cullen scrambled down the hill, carefully rolling the Herald onto his back. His breath caught in his throat—Xander was _so_ cold; he was unconscious, and his lips were blue. He was so still, he looked as if he may never move again. 


	15. Chapter 15

_Cold. Pain. Cold and pain._

Xander cradled his clearly broken ribs with his right hand. His left had stopped hurting, but now it was flickering angrily, almost vengeful. It felt different than before, and Xander wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. He levered himself up tenderly, each ache flaring anew as he rose. He could feel blood running down behind his ear, and when he put weight on his ankle, it protested mightily. He groaned, trying to get the lay of the land. He couldn’t see where he’d fallen, which meant going up was not an option. The only way out was forward. 

He had vague recollections of Leliana telling him of the vast tunnels and passages under Haven—the ones that led up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and for a moment he feared being lost in those tunnels forever. But he had to press forward. Water dripped in the distance, and snow piled along the walls. He could hear distant groaning, though whether that was the wind, something more insidious, or just the _miles_ of rock and snow above his head, he couldn’t say. He couldn’t afford to linger on such thoughts, so he limped forward.

He mused about this… Corypheus. This Elder One. He was monstrous, and if what he said was true, then he was one of the original magisters who stormed the Black City. Was it possible? Could one of the men who brought the Blight really be… Xander shook himself violently. It would do him no good to dwell on such matters—he could confer with his advisors about it when he got out. If he got out. 

Lost in his musings, he hadn’t realized there was a sound coming from up ahead—whispers and hissing echoing off bare stone. His footsteps stilled, and the mark throbbed wildly, like a dog straining at the end of a leash. A rush of cool air came from the chamber ahead, and he chose to be optimistic for a time and believe it was from an exit. Clutching his broken ribs, he stumbled forward. 

He peered around a corner and froze; demons! Deceptively small things, with shrunken limbs that reminded him too much of Corypheus and swathed in frozen cloaks. He shuddered—he felt tendrils of despair and emptiness curl around the edges of his mind, and cold rolled off the things like an aura. Trying to get his shivering under control, he heaved himself around the corner, reaching for his greatsword. Unfortunately, the bottom of his stomach dropped out when he realized he was unarmed; furthermore, the demons were now aware of his presence and were closing on him. 

The mark flared again, spitefully and viciously. Xander backed away until he was against the stone, throwing his arm out in a futile attempt at defense, waiting for the inevitable rake of claws across his limbs and chest. But it never came; instead, the chamber was filled with bright green light. Fade lightning sparked and roiled above his head, tearing the demons in all directions, scattering their essences back to Maker-knows-where. Xander closed his hand into a tight fist, and the de facto rift disappeared. 

_Did I just make a rift?_

He gave himself a shake, levering himself off the floor with a groan, but with a surge of adrenaline, he felt the wind on his face again. He _hadn’t_ imagined it! Looking ahead, he saw snowflakes drift in through an opening in the wall. 

“There!” Xander gasped, picking up his pace. “A way out!”

Sadly, it seemed, the cave had one thing up on open air; there wasn’t a raging blizzard in the cave. He stepped towards the ground and hissed with a combination of surprise and pain when he immediately sank to his knees in soft, fresh snow. A frigid wind whistled from the mountaintop, nearly knocking him clear off his feet. His hair had escaped the long tail he’d tied it in, and it whipped in his eyes; combined with the blowing snow, his visibility was poor to say the least. Not to mention that his armor didn’t do much to protect from the elements, and the wind bit right through to his bones. 

He wouldn’t get anywhere standing around waiting for the wind to take him, so he shielded his eyes as best he could and started walking. Uphill was his friend—get above the treeline and he would find the Inquisition. He knew it—or rather, he had to, or he wouldn’t survive. The snow was powdery and past his thighs in some parts. Between the deep drifts and the uphill climb, Xander struggled to press forward. The wind stole the breath from his lungs and replaced it with icy cold. Every step jarred his injuries, and it took monumental effort to just put one foot in front of the other. 

After what felt like a small eternity, he found the first vestiges of the treeline, but it didn’t seem to help. As much as the trees shielded him from the snow, the wind still whipped through unforgivingly and tore at his coat. He dragged himself through the shallower snow, squinting ahead. The light was poor, but he saw what looked like the remains of a fire pit. He picked his way towards it, trying desperately to ignore how _close_ those wolves were starting to sound. Imaginary eyes in the shadows quickened his pace, but he didn’t even have to feel the cold pit to know it was long abandoned. 

It was harder to steel himself for the next leg of the climb. He’d long lost the feeling in his fingers and toes, and the sweat from the exertion immediately froze on his face, dropping his temperature further. He levered himself continuously _up_ , using pine branches or fallen rocks or whatever he could find to just _go._ He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but if he slept, he was dead. So he moved forward. 

Once he emerged from the ring of trees, it appeared he was past the blizzard. The wolves were quieter, but the snow was at its deepest here, easily to his hips. He struggled forward, not even sure why he was continuing on. He thought fondly of Iris; he dearly hoped she’d made it out of Haven, that she’d escaped the avalanche. He gave a fleeting thought to her little palms of fire, and he knew he would give everything to be at her side again. A tingling numbness ran up and down his limbs—he no longer felt the pain from his injuries; only the frigid bite of cold stealing all sensation. He passed the remnants of a fire pit that _may_ have had embers in it, but he might have imagined them, as caught up in thoughts about Iris as he was. 

He took precisely three steps before he heard the insidious whisper in his ear… or it may have been in his mind; _you’ll never make it back. You’re going to die here. Just sleep. Lie down and sleep. It’ll be easier that way; she’s a mage. She can meet you in the Fade. You’ll be warm and safe there; you’ll have never hurt her there. It will be alright._

Xander closed his eyes for a brief moment, and he felt like he may never open them again. It was odd—he could almost hear the popping of a merry fire in a hearth. He peeled his eyes open and found himself in a comfortable sitting room with two lush, overstuffed chairs arranged before a stone fireplace. Curled up in one of the chairs, bathed in the light of the hearth, was Iris. She had her knees pulled up under her, a book balanced on her knee. Her dark curls swept freely over her shoulders. She looked so at ease, and when she turned her gaze on him, she smiled warmly. 

“Brother, what are you doing on the floor? Come. Sit by the fire with me,” she said, extending her hand towards him. 

Xander tried to lever himself off the rug beneath him, but his limbs were frozen. He sank further into the surface below him; it was strangely hard. This rug wasn’t near plush enough; “I’m cold.”

“That’s because you’re on the floor, silly,” Iris giggled. She marked her book with a red ribbon, setting it to the side, before coming to kneel next to him. She brushed her fingertips over his forehead, pushing his hair back from his face. “Oh, Brother, are you alright? You seem… troubled.”

“I feel like there’s something I’m forgetting,” Xander mumbled. Something was wrong. Iris’s hands were so _cold_ , like fingers of ice. He was having trouble breathing, trouble concentrating. It would be _so easy_ to close his eyes and just let it take him. He could sleep here forever. It would be _easier._

“Of course you’re not forgetting anything,” Iris murmured. Her voice was garbled and unclear. A hand was on his face, not as cold, but insistent. It was hitting him slightly, trying to lever his jaw upwards. It was bigger, and gloved. 

“Something’s wrong,” he insisted. “I have… there’s something I have to do!”

“No!” Iris exclaimed, though her voice was already far away and muddy. “No, brother, don’t _leave me_ again!”

“ _Herald!_ ” A voice called to him, insistent and clearer. “Lord Trevelyan! _Xander!_ Can you hear me?” 

Xander peeled open his eyes, and he was no longer in that cozy little room with his baby sister. He was still freezing on a mountainside somewhere outside Haven. He couldn’t move his arms or his legs; he couldn’t feel his face. He did, however, see Cullen through his lashes, his expression somewhere between intense relief and gut-wrenching terror. 

“Seeker!” Cullen called, though it was sounding very far away again. “Cassandra! He’s alive!”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra replied, sounding more relieved than he’d ever heard her. 

Xander wanted to go back to that sitting room, and the sudden feeling of weightlessness was too disorienting for him, so he let his eyes slide closed as he drifted. But there was only crushing darkness—no more welcoming warmth. No more Iris. 

He was alone.

~~~

The worst part of all of this, Iris figured, was the waiting. The blizzard had largely avoided their little campsite, sweeping down the mountain instead of lingering over them. She had a sneaking suspicion it had everything to do with the gathered Primal mages, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Xander was out there, somewhere. He was _alive._ He had to be. She’d never been much for praying, but that night she sent desperate prayers to Andraste and the Maker and whatever deity would listen that he would come back to her, safe and sound. 

“Iris,” Emma whispered, settling down next to her. She placed a hand on Iris’s shoulder, but the gesture was so reminiscent of Xander, she shrugged the comforting touch off. To her credit, Emma then kept her hands to herself. “Cullen has some of the best trackers in Thedas with him. If there is something to find, he’ll find it.”

“That’s what worries me,” Iris countered. “What if… what if there’s nothing to find? What if—”

“Don’t,” Emma interrupted, frowning. “Don’t _do_ that to yourself, Iris. You can’t change anything, and Xander won’t be made safe by you worrying yourself sick.”

“You must think me a petulant child for the tantrum I threw before,” Iris groaned, hanging her head in shame. 

“You were angry, Iris,” Emma answered. “You were grieving, and Cullen was the easy target. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

“I know it’s not his fault, but...I need to blame someone. I can’t be angry at fate and chance; I need something concrete there in front of me to lash out at. I spent so long being angry at forces beyond my control.” She raked her hands through her hair, snorting in disgust when it tangled on the leather tie that kept her tail in place. 

Emma sighed, setting a tin cup in Iris’s hands. It was tea, and judging by the smell, it had a few choice herbs that would relax her a bit—nothing too potent. Iris took a sip, scrunching her nose at the tepid temperature. Almost without a thought, she applied her magic, heating it to steaming. Emma looked pointedly at her hands, her brow arched, but blessedly said nothing about it. 

“I understand,” she finally said after too-long a pause. “Believe me, Iris. I do. We all have someone we can potentially be angry at tonight; Alyx has barely said a word to me since we left Haven. But all we can do is wait.”

“You know what thought just occured to me, and it makes me mad that it’s even there.”

Emma canted her head in askance, sipping her cooled tea, waiting patiently.

“I lost all my books. They’re all gone—every single one I brought with me. Just gone, and here I am thinking about books while my brother is lost somewhere in an avalanche.” 

Emma snorted into her tea, trying to suppress the ill-hidden chuckle in her voice; “It’s perfectly rational, Iris. You want to talk symbolism, I lost all my templar equipment in Haven. My armor, my staff… it’s all gone. All that’s left is my spirit blade, and that’s only because I haven’t been more than two feet from this thing since I made it.”

“You made that?” Iris gazed at the Hilt with wide eyes; it was quite beautiful, in its simplicity. It had the basic shape of a standard greatsword hilt, but the metal shone a brilliant blue. _Lazurite?_

“Yes,” Emma answered holding it out to Iris on the flat of her palm. “It’s part of the process of becoming a Knight Enchanter. After our Harrowing, we have to collect the materials for a blade and assemble it. Then we take our vigil, just like Templars.”

Iris took the hilt in shaking hands; three shards were embedded in the metal, making the whole thing radiate an aura of _power_. She’d never held anything like it; “So… does that make Alyx a Knight Enchanter, too?”

Emma let out a sudden gust of hysterical laughter; “Oh, Maker, no. I’m not entirely sure what that _monstrosity_ is that Alyx wields, but believe me when I say no self-respecting Knight Enchanter would use something that volatile.”

“Hey,” Alyx called from her tent, her voice muffled and strained. “I heard that, Princess! Come and say that to my _face!_ ”

“Go back to sleep, Alyx!” Emma called back easily. 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead! Fucking _fight me!_ ” Alyx retorted, though the wet cough that followed took a bit out of the implied threat. 

“Well, you almost _were_ dead, so I think that qualifies,” Emma shouted, barely concealing the mirth in her voice. “Now go back to bed or I will come in there and _make you._ ”

“She’ll pass out soon enough. She’s always feisty right before bed; actually she’s always feisty. You just notice it a lot more when she’s cranky,” Iris chuckled, handing the hilt back to Emma. She’d have to see if her cousin would let her examine it later… it was quite fascinating, and the Knight Enchanters were so _mysterious._

“Feel better?” Emma asked gently, tucking the hilt protectively back into her belt. 

Iris felt her lower lip wobble for one traitorous second before she threw her arms around Emma’s middle; “Thank you. For being here. I’m sorry; I really am.”

“Don’t be sorry, Iris,” Emma soothed, running a gently reassuring hand down Iris’s back. She held her tight for a moment, but then cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to ruin the moment, but what in the world is in your jacket?”

Iris pulled back suddenly, reaching into her pocket. Still stuffed safely inside her coat was the toy nug Xander pressed into her hands before the whole mess in Haven began; “Oh, Maker! It’s Mr. Nuggles!”

“Mister what now?” Emma asked, cocking her head at the stuffed nug. 

“Mr. Nuggles,” Iris repeated. “He’s… oh, I can’t believe he survived!”

“I’m sorry, but what in the world is a Mr. Nuggles?” Emma continued, perplexed. 

“He’s… he was special to me a long time ago,” Iris answered. She felt dangerous tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She clutched tight to the stuffed toy, feeling the down inside him shift with her grip. She held him tight to her chest, sobbing, caught somewhere between elated and distraught. “Oh Maker I am such a child. Crying over a stuffed toy! I just...it's the last thing he ever gave me. If Xander is gone this is all I have left...and I am just so happy to have it!”

“Hey now,” Emma soothed, cradling Iris’s shoulders. “Don’t let _anyone_ tell you how to feel. _Ever._ Do you hear me?”

Iris nodded mutely, resisting the urge to sob again. She felt so stupid, but also grateful. The small, optimistic part of herself chose to see it as a sign, that maybe any moment, Xander would come over that hill with that _grin_ of his, and she could properly yell at him. After she hugged the stuffing out of him, of course.

A commotion at the entrance to the camp drew their attention, and Iris felt her heart stop for a moment. Cullen was hiking up the rise, a huge form thrown over his shoulders. Emma was on her feet faster than Iris could process what was happening. 

“Maker, Cullen, what happened?” Emma asked, her hands running over the form. 

“We found him passed out in the snow,” Cullen explained. “He’s freezing.”

“Of course, he’s freezing, Cullen!” Emma exclaimed. “Get him into a tent with as many blankets as we can spare! Get these wet clothes off him. I’ll be right in.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Cullen said. “I think we found him just in time.”

Iris flew to her feet; it was Xander! He was alive! She found herself frozen to the spot, not sure what she was supposed to do. So focused was she on the Xander’s plight, she nearly jumped a foot when Emma’s hand closed on her elbow. 

“Emma, is he—”

“Iris, I need your help,” Emma said frankly. 

“You must be joking,” Iris rejoined. “Emma, I’m not a healer. I can stop bleeding, but you—”

“Specialize in frost magic,” Emma finished. “I can heal his injuries, but he needs more than that. Iris, he’s _freezing._ ”

“I can’t,” Iris choked around a lump in her throat. “I...the fire...I’m...that's why they sent me away; I was fire and I made the tea warm...”

“Iris!” Emma barked. There was an edge of command to her voice Iris had never had directed on her before. It was unsettling. Emma raked her hand through her hair, fixing her eyes on Iris. “Listen to me; I don’t care what Aunt Beatrice did. She’s… she’s awful, Iris. But you have a _gift_! You exhibit a level of control over one of the most volatile elements that I’ve never seen. I can’t believe the First Enchanter didn’t approach you about the Knight Enchanters.”

“It’s nothing special Emma, it's just a trick. They always yelled at me for using it to read at night.”

“It’s _not a trick!”_ Emma snapped. “You assume every mage can do what you do, but you’re special. You are… Iris, you are _flame personified_. It’s the only way I can describe it. You’re in touch with fire. I control ice, but fire _dances_ for you, and it is _spectacular._ You think any mage can just apply enough controlled heat to a cup of tea without boiling it, or scorching the cup? Most masters take _decades_ of training to reach that level of control, and you can just do it!”

“Will it save my brother?” Iris asked with a shaking voice.

“He’ll die without it,” Emma replied bluntly. “I can’t save him without you, Iris.”

“Ok…”

Emma grabbed Iris by the elbow, dragging her to Xander’s tent. Her breath stopped in her throat as Emma set to work—his lips were blue, and he was shaking violently. Every other part of him was wrapped in all the blankets they had. His face was mottled with bruises and streaked with blood. 

“What do I do, Emma?” Iris asked, her voice shaking but her hands steady. 

Emma was already pouring healing magic from her hands, lingering over some spots before moving slowly down; “I’m going to have to move the blankets. I need you to apply even heat; focus on his chest and try and spread it out to his limbs.”

Iris rubbed her hands together, calling on that special spot inside of her, the one that always reminded her of a comfortable fire in a hearth. She pulled just enough heat to her hands to pour warmth into Xander’s too-cold skin. Emma peeled back the blankets, exposing him to the air; the linen shirt and breeches did nothing to keep the mountain wind away from him, so Iris set to work. 

It seemed to do the trick; his color certainly improved quickly. But as soon as Iris moved her hands, the spot she’d been on chilled almost instantly. Iris tried to wrestle her tears under control; Xander was so big and strong—to see him like this… he looked so _small._ She bit the inside of her lip to bring her back to the present. 

“Shit,” Emma muttered under her breath. “It’s not _working._ ”

“Do I need to apply more heat?” Iris asked, focusing on the steady stream of magic and keeping it even. 

“No,” Emma said, lingering on a swollen spot over his ribs. “You don’t want to set him on fire. _Shit_. If I had any penchant for fire I would, but I don’t and none of the other mages have the control you do!” 

“Dorian! Dorian does! Emma, he can do what I do! He showed me! We need Dorian!” she yelled excitedly. If anyone would help, it would be Dorian.

Emma nodded gravely, snapping her fingers at a runner; “Send for Dorian, the Tevinter man with the mustache.”

The runner looked at her like she’d grown a second head, but one look at their Herald dying on a camp bed and he was off. Iris turned back to her work, focusing on Xander’s hands. She ignored the Mark, sparking fitfully, even in his sleep. She prayed to the Maker she wasn’t hurting him. 

“They sent for me,” Dorian said, swooping into the tent. “How can I—Maker preserve me, is that the Herald?”

“Yes,” Emma snapped, though it wasn’t in anger but _stress_. Iris saw Emma’s hands shake, and she wasn’t sure if it was from exertion or grief. “Iris, show him what to do. Xander’s ribs are broken; I have to focus.”

“I need to keep his chest warm or she won’t be able to heal his ribs. His legs and arms; they need to be brought back up. But I can’t do all of it. I can hold him and keep his head and chest warm, you need to do the rest,” Iris explained, trying to control the shaking in her voice. 

“I understand. There is so much of him, after all,” Dorian replied lightly. He flinched at identical looks of derision from the girls. “Sorry, time and place. Right.”

Dorian took a deep breath, his hands glowing with the same orange energy that permeated Iris’s. With an almost loving brush of his fingers, he moved over Xander’s extremities. Iris pressed her hands into Xander’s chest, just under his collarbone, and focused on moving the heat through his most important parts. It was a long, grueling process that required several lyrium potions, but soon Emma made a satisfied noise as she cut off the healing magic. Iris gazed down at her brother; his color had improved, his pulse no longer fluttered under her hands like a hummingbird’s wings, and his breath came easier. He still didn’t wake, but Emma didn’t seem concerned. 

“He’ll probably sleep for a while,” Emma sighed, brushing her hand across her sweat-soaked forehead. “But he should be fine, and thanks to your fine work, he should keep all his limbs.”

Dorian sighed, dark circles forming under his otherwise-flawless eyes. He looked drawn and pale, and his long-fingered hand lingered on Xander’s for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. He was looking at Xander—no, _staring_ was the right word—with an inscrutable expression. He looked hesitant, like he didn’t want to leave. 

“We should let him get some rest,” Emma suggested. “And we should get something to eat. I’ll send for Mother Giselle to sit with him.”

Iris shook her head sharply; “No. I won’t leave him.”

“Iris, there’s nothing more you can do for him,” Emma said. “It’s up to him now, and you need food and rest.”

“Then I will take it here,” Iris rejoined. “When we were young and I had a nightmare, he stayed with me all night. He didn’t leave me, not once. What he just went through...that was a nightmare. I won’t leave him; not ever again.”

Emma gave a sympathetic nod, and Dorian made a noise in the back of his throat, rising from his place at Xander’s side. Emma looped her arm through his, leading him to where what remained of the kitchen staff was issuing dinner. Iris flipped back the blanket, squeezing into the small amount of free space next to him. His body was refreshingly warm, and when she laid her head on his chest, she heard his heartbeat under her ear. She smiled softly when his slow, even breath raised and lowered his chest, and soon the rhythmic evidence of _life_ in him started to lull her to a sleepy state. 

“I won’t let anything take you from me, Xander,” she muttered fiercely. “Never again.”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering the overwhelmingly positive response to a thrice-weekly schedule, we have decided to keep it for now. Thank you once again for reading, and we sincerely hope you enjoy this one. It's one of our favorites.


	16. Chapter 16

When Xander woke, he knew he couldn’t possibly be dead, as likely as that outcome had been. He was in far too much pain to be dead. Also, there was yelling. _So much yelling._ It seemed to be the advisors—Cullen, Josephine, Leliana and Cassandra were all shouting at the top of their damn voices, making it impossible for a man to get any sleep. Also, there was a soft weight on his chest. 

“What would you have me tell them?” Cullen growled. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

Xander peeled open his eyes, the persistent ache behind them protesting at the dim light of the tent. His left arm had fallen asleep, and when he peered down, he saw Iris using his chest as a pillow. Her arms were thrown around his waist, and he felt a something in his chest draw tight. She was _alive_ , and she was safe, and she was _there_. With him. He felt dangerous, traitorous tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, and he blinked rapidly to disperse them. 

“We can’t simply ignore this! We _must_ find a way!” Cassandra rejoined. 

_How is Iris sleeping through this noise?_ Xander narrowed his eyes and tried to lever himself up to his elbows. His head protested at the sudden movement, and Iris made a displeased noise in her sleep at being dislodged. Her arms tightened around him. 

“And who put _you_ in charge?” Cullen snarled. “We need a consensus or we have _nothing!_ ”

They needed to stop shouting; Xander was having a significant moment, and they were _shouting._

_I am going to kill them. I’m going to kill every single one of them; I’ll get new advisors. Better ones. Ones that don’t shout all the time._

“Please, we _must_ use reason!” Josephine interjected, tossing her arms up between Cassandra and Cullen in a futile effort to separate them. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

_Maybe I won’t kill Josephine; she’s nice, and keeps a level head. Pretty sure the Inquisition would fall into the sea without her._

“That can’t come from nowhere!” Cullen shouted, running his hands through his hair in exasperated frustration.

_Probably not Cullen either… I don’t think I could replace him. Maybe if I killed him, and replaced him with Cassandra? No; Cassandra would be mad._

“She didn’t say it could!” Leliana riposted. 

_Definitely can’t kill Leliana; she’d see it coming before I even had a plan. Damn. I guess I can’t kill any of them. Guess I better get up and help._

“Enough!” Cassandra snapped. “This is getting us _nowhere_.”

“Well, we’re agreed on that much!” Cullen hissed, pacing frantically. 

Xander managed to sit up, settling Iris back onto the pillow with a gentle stroke through her hair. She had a little smudge across her nose, and he brushed at it with his knuckles; he felt like a fool, staring at his little sister with a warmth he was sure would make her outrageously uncomfortable. But he couldn’t help it. 

“She’ll be pleased to know you wake,” a soft voice remarked. Xander jumped suddenly, nearly dislodging Iris further. Mother Giselle sat primly at his bedside, a knowing smirk on her face. “She has refused to leave your bedside, though she would likely agree with me that you need rest.”

Xander shook his head fondly, pulling the covers up over Iris’s shoulders and shooting his attention to his (still argueing) advisors; “How long have they been at it?”

“A few hours,” Mother Giselle answered. “Since your recovery has been confirmed. They have the luxury to argue thanks to you. The enemy could not follow; and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting… it may threaten us as much—maybe more than this Elder One.”

“Corypheus,” Xander corrected. “His name is Corypheus.”

Giselle nodded knowingly; “I see. So the monster has a name. I am not sure if that makes him more or less terrifying.”

“Do we know where his forces are?” Xander asked. “Are we safe here?”

“As safe as we can be, considering,” the Chantry mother answered. “We’re not sure where we are, which may be why despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead; or without Haven, we are thought helpless.”

“Or he girds for another attack,” Xander interjected. “If they’re arguing about what we do next, I need to be there.”

“Another heated voice won’t help,” Giselle said. “Even yours. Perhaps, especially yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand… and fall. And now we have seen him return.”

“I survived an avalanche,” Xander snapped quietly, losing patience with the Mother. He shifted on the cot as Iris turned in her sleep. “Barely, but I didn’t die; you make it sound as if I rose from the dead.”

“You must understand, Herald,” Giselle intoned, pointedly using his title. “The more the enemy seems beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem… ordained. I understand that is hard to accept—what _we_ have been called to endure; what _we,_ perhaps, must come to believe.”

Xander remembered Corypheus’s words; the Golden City wasn’t golden. It was corrupted… and empty. If this… creature was correct, then the Maker was a farce. He wasn’t a religious man, but he knew what would happen, should those words reach the wrong ears. Tevinter would certainly have something to say about it. He scoffed under his breath, raking his hand through his hair; “Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Corypheus is a very _real_ threat, and more powerful than anything I’ve ever encountered. If you have a way to combat that with hope alone, then I’d love to hear about it. But my beliefs or yours or anyone else’s about what lies in the next world doesn’t change what is in this one.”

Xander felt his voice steadily rising, his anger curling in his chest, hot and sickening. Giselle’s unchanging expression, save for the slight tightening around her eyes, certainly didn’t help the matter. He shoved up off the cot and stormed out of the tent, intending to do anything _concrete_ , but he lost momentum the moment he reached the center of the camp. He was surrounded by his people—the unshakable pillars of the Inquisition. And they were shaken. He pressed a fist to his forehead; he could not cry now. He couldn’t even _think_ of showing distress now. Not with all eyes on him. He raked a hand through his hair, at a loss for what to do next. 

Mother Giselle once again interrupted his thoughts, but this time it was her voice raised in song. A resonating alto that reverberated throughout the camp; it was a familiar hymn that he’d sung so many times, the words had lost all meaning. He stared at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes. She continued to sing, and she’d drawn the attention of others. 

Leliana’s voice joined—the high, lilting, melodious tune of a songbird—as others gathered around him. Their faces… they turned to him, like he had the answers. Like he was their great white _hope_ , and he couldn’t bear it. He heard Cullen’s voice—of all people—join the song, and once the Commander bared himself before the Herald, so too did the rest join. Some genuflected before him, and soon, the mountain resonated with song. He caught Emma’s eye, and she shot him a sad smile. It was a frightening thought—that they so ardently believed in him. 

No, not him. They believed in the Maker, and they believed the Maker had sent him as the Herald of his bride—to do their work. As the song finished, and the raised voices turned to convivial cheers, he averted his eyes. 

“An army needs more than an enemy,” Giselle said softly, staring at him out the corner of her eye. “It needs a cause.”

He turned back towards the tent and he noticed Iris was awake—no doubt awoken by the singing—and she was giving him an arch look. He grinned at her, ready to make his way back to his cot, when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He whirled in place, and Solas was looking up at him in a way that made Xander feel exposed. 

“A word?” Solas asked softly, heading off for an empty space away from the tents without waiting for a response. 

Xander followed through the ankle-deep snow, casting a pointed look at Solas’s bare feet. He didn’t even seem phased—frankly, he barely disturbed the surface of the snow. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a torch of that cool fire from Redcliffe; Xander shuddered, earning an arched brow from Solas. 

“A wise woman,” the elf said softly. “Worth heeding. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause… or fracture it.”

“Better her than me,” Xander replied, scratching at his hair. He made a face when his hand came away dirty—he desperately needed a bath. “I’m just a brute with a sword, remember?”

Solas pursed his lips, staring into the joyfully-flickering fire; “You encountered this Corypheus… and the orb he carries.”

“I’m guessing it’s what caused the explosion at the Conclave,” Xander replied, flexing his left hand. “And… the mark. He kept calling it ‘the Anchor’.”

“You are most likely correct,” Solas said. “The orb… it’s elven. And he used it to open the Breach.”

“But if Corypheus was at the Conclave,” Xander mused, scratching at the three-day stubble on his chin. “Then how did he survive?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Solas replied. “Though I’m not certain how people will react when they learn of the Orb’s origin.”

Xander heard the quiet anxiety in the simple statement; “Alright, Solas, you have my attention. What is this orb? How do you know about it?”

“They were foci, used the channel ancient magicks,” Solas explained with the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. He always liked it when Xander asked questions, it seemed. “I have seen such things in the Fade—old memories of older magic; Corypheus may think it is Tevinter. His empire was built on the bones of my people. Knowing or not, though, he risks our alliance. I cannot allow it.”

Xander frowned; “I can see how elves would become an easy target.”

“History would agree, but… there are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction.” Solas replied. “By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. Scout to the North; be their guide.”

He swept his hand over the camp, turning his attention from the mountains. 

“What’s to the North?” Xander asked, following Solas’s gaze. Was that… a pass? 

Solas smirked; “There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. A place where the Inquisition can build… grow. A place where the sky is kept.”

~~~

Emma was exhausted. She’d spent the better part of the past day patching wounds that could stand to go without being healed, magically healing the wounds that couldn’t, and making comfortable the ones that would not survive. Most of her energy had gone into bring Alyx back into fighting shape. Really, the girl could use a lesson in battle tactics. And defense. And barriers. And not blocking elbows from armored attackers with one’s _face_. But she was going to live, it seemed.

Alyx seemed none too thrilled about this development, though. As a matter of fact, she’d been downright snippy since the aftermath of Haven, and Emma had a feeling it went past her injuries. It seemed to her that Alyx needed some time to herself—to digest—and while the sudden step back in their mutual progress twisted like a knife in her gut, she understood. 

The person she truly worried about, though, was Xander. He walked at the head of the impossibly long line of people, leading them somewhere deep into the Frostbacks. He strode with the posture of a man who’d been defeated and had to carry on. She recognized it in the stoop of his shoulders and the frantic pace of his gait. She recognized it in the barely-concealed limp and the way he nervously flexed his Marked hand. 

_You are going to lose him. Just as you’ve lost everyone else._

But she was stuck in the back with the injured soldiers and survivors and the Templars that had escaped Haven. She wanted to walk with him. She wanted to help; she even wanted to possibly give her advice. But it was not her place. It was not her impossible burden to shoulder, so she would stay where she was needed, and be ready for anything. 

~~~

The abandoned Keep was called Skyhold, if Xander was to be believed. It was impossibly ancient and depressingly decrepit, but once Josephine, Xander, Leliana and Cullen set to work, things started to take shape. Emma was feeling startlingly useless, helping to tend to the wounded survivors, but they’d only been there a little more than two weeks. 

A clear shift had taken place in the Inquisition. Josephine had Xander in finery instead of armor, wielding a ceremonial blade as he gazed down at his followers. He was shining and golden, hefting the sword over his head, as he called for order and peace for all. Josephine cheered mightily, despite the flush that worked her way over her cheeks; Cullen rallied the people for “their leader, their Herald, their _Inquisitor_ ” and riotous cheers rose in the courtyard. They were surrounded by ruins, people lay dying, and yet it was hard not to be taken in by the display. 

Xander was Inquisitor now, not just the Herald. He would lead them, or they would fall. Of that, she was certain. 

~~~

After the ceremony in the courtyard, a runner came for Iris, saying the Inquisitor wanted to see her. She felt an odd twist in her chest at the new title. She wanted to shout ‘his name is Xander’ at anyone who just referred to him as ‘the Inquisitor’. It had only been a few hours, and already he was being lost to yet another title. She couldn’t believe she was being _summoned for a meeting_ with her brother. It was ridiculous. 

It was still so weird to hear herself describe him as such—her brother. She swore from the moment she found out he was her brother that she wouldn’t allow herself to grow close to him. What would have been the point? It wasn’t like they had grown up together or had any memories to speak of. Yet she found herself remembering little things. Like how he would sleep next to her after a nightmare. How he would be the dragon that she fought to save his majesty, Mr. Nuggles. Xander always taught her that she didn't need a prince or a knight to rescue her, and she could always save herself. But then it had become Xander who needed saving and she was unwilling to lose him again. There would be a chance to discuss their past, why he never came to see her, why he never wrote. _But when would that chance come? How much time did any of them have left?_

Iris gave herself a shake, climbing the stairs to the keep’s doors. They were thrown open in an effort to air out the dusty main chamber. Alyx was waiting by the entrance with an inquisitive look at Iris. She shrugged, and went to ask Alyx what she was doing, before Emma came up the stairs as well. Iris quirked her brow—it seemed Xander had summoned them all. So he wasn’t looking for that heart-to-heart that really _needed_ to occur. But why would he want them all at once? And now of all times?

“It began in the courtyard,” Leliana’s soft voice carried from the main chamber. “This is where we turn that action into promise.”

Iris, Emma and Alyx shrugged before walking in together as Josephine started fretting; “But what do we do? We know _nothing_ about this _Corypheus_ except that he wanted your Mark.”

Iris’ breath caught in her throat; she knew Xander was, objectively speaking, a handsome man, and she’d appreciated the finery he wore from afar during the ceremony to make him Inquisitor; but up close, Iris could see the subtle work at play. The sumptuous black velvet with the emerald-and-gold picked embroidery made his eyes look _greener_ , if that was possible. The cut of the high collar made his strong jaw and sharp, noble features look all the more so, and the lines of the garment only served to make the broad sweep of his shoulders even broader. He looked stunning; more than that, he looked _intimidating._

And then he smiled at them as they picked their way across the uneven, debris-covered floor, and he was the same old Xander. Iris breathed a sigh of relief; “Sorry to interrupt, but you sent for me?” 

“I sent for all of you,” Xander replied easily. “The council and I were talking, and we wanted to officially recognise the help you’ve given the Inquisition since you’ve joined.”

“We haven’t done all that much,” Emma countered. 

“I disagree,” Leliana interjected. “Alyx brought us word of Redcliffe—”

“That was Dorian,” Alyx tried to interrupt. 

Leliana bowled over her protests; “—and assisted in the recruitment and rescue of the Templars. Emma brought the situation with the Templars to our attention, and without her, we would have lost the Order. Since Haven, Emma has also been working tirelessly to help our soldiers and our wounded.”

“And Iris,” Xander added with a soft, warm smile. “Iris, you saved my life. You kept a cool head under pressure, and you remembered a crucial detail that no one else knew. For these reasons, and more, we have all decided to incorporate you into the Inquisition’s inner workings.”

“Excuse me?” Emma asked, going almost as pale as her hair. 

“There will be official ceremonies,” Josephine said. Alyx visibly bristled at the word ‘ceremony’, but to her credit, kept silent. “Xander will have to judge and promote you from the throne, but he didn’t want to offer it in front of an audience.”

“Please, understand, that you are by no means obligated to take these,” Xander assured. “You are also under no obligation to stay in Skyhold, or be with the Inquisition. But you are valued members, and my family, and I love you and I want to do this for you.”

“So we get our promotions through nepotism, is that it?” Alyx jibed, but there was very little sting in the words. 

“No,” Xander answered smoothly. “I do value the work you do, and I feel you deserve it.”

“Emma would work with me,” Cullen said. “I saw the work you did with the battle-ready mages in Haven, and we need more Mages who are prepared for combat situations.”

“Iris has shown a keen eye for detail and a diplomatic mind,” Josephine added. “And I would very much like her at my side. Some training will be required, but having a young mage in a diplomatic setting would not be the worst idea.”

“And Alyx has a...unique set of skills I can put to use,” Leliana grinned enigmatically. “Again, you girls are under no obligation to—”

“I accept!” Emma said suddenly, snapping into a crisp salute. 

“Unique skills, is it?” Alyx said, raising an eyebrow at Leliana. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Xander rolled his eyes, affectionately punching Alyx in the shoulder; “Good to hear.”

Iris scuffed the toe of her boot against the dirty stones; “I shouldn’t...I don’t think I am quite as good as you have made me out to be. I can watch and learn if you’d like, but I’m sure there must be someone else more suited.”

“Don’t be foolish, Iris,” Xander chastised. “Josephine asked for you _by name_ , and I never would have made it through Haven without you.”

“But surely there must be someone more qualified. I spent my entire life in the Circle, what skills can I possibly offer Josephine that she couldn’t find in someone else?”

“Really?” Xander countered, crossing his arms and assuming that _stance_ when he knew he was right. “Tell me about Alexius, Iris.”

“He was confident when we arrived, since he didn’t know we had prepared a trap. His facade faltered when Felix revealed his involvement; should Felix have put himself in front of you I don’t think things would have gone as they did.”

Xander nodded knowingly. He smirked; “Alright. Tell me… tell me about the Queen.”

“She wanted to speak up but she couldn’t. She had to show support of the King,” Iris rattled off easily. “Until they have an heir, she is Queen-consort by law. So in all public appearances, she had to show her undying support of him. But she was worried; that’s why she talked to you privately.” 

“And the King?” Xander asked. “What was his issue? And why would he travel all the way from Denerim to Redcliffe just to kick some Mages out of the Castle, when forces would have so easily done it for him?”

Iris pursed her lips, fidgeting with her fingers; “He’s a king by circumstance. Everyone knows he never would have gained the throne without the help of the Hero of Ferelden. If word got out that he had allowed one of his most well-fortified castles to be taken right under his nose, he would be facing a potential Landsmeet.”

“Fine,” Xander replied. “You were a Rebel, no matter how briefly. The roads of the Hinterlands were dangerous, and yet you trusted Dorian—a Tevinter, no less. What made you trust him? Why did you come to Haven, Iris?”

“He made fire in his hand like I did,” Iris answered after a time. She smiled softly at the memory. “He warned me about what was happening in Redcliffe, rather than let me go there and end up among the masses. He was the first person I met who looked at my staff and made me feel like a human being. To him I was a little girl in the woods trying to keep warm and he made sure I was safe.”

Xander colored slightly across his cheeks, but continued his strange interrogation; “And how do you know all these things, Iris?”

“Well anyone who has read a book on Fereldan nobility would know that a queen has to secure her place with an heir,” Iris retorted. “The story of King Alistair is very well known; though I did read a really wonderful first hand account of the Landsmeet and the reason it went the way that it did. And Alexius...he’s a father...aren’t fathers supposed to want to protect their children?”

Xander grinned, throwing a companionable arm around her shoulder; “Yes. They are. But Iris… you have all this knowledge. But you have a gift, little sister.”

“I know; Emma already explained that my trick with the fireball is more than just a trick.” 

“Iris, it’s more than just conjuring fire in your hands… as impressive as that is,” Xander said with a wry grin. “But let me ask you this… what can you tell me about… about me?”

“You hate that you’re tall,” Iris replied after a moment. “You always stoop down so that you don’t seem so big. You wear black because you think it makes you look slimmer, but also because you know it makes your eyes that much greener. You always loved to wear your hair long—Father hated it—but I guess you do it now out of spite. Much like I can only assume that tattoo was out of spite to Mother; from what I remember of her, that was very much against propriety. You think you are hiding your emotions, but they are right there on your face all the time. Like right now you’re blushing because… oh, I’ve embarrassed you.”

Alyx cackled, her arm thrown across her stomach; “Do Emma next! Emma next!”

Emma blushed mightily, hiding behind her curtain of hair before aiming a gentle punch at Alyx’s shoulder. 

“Emma wears her hair long because she loves the way that it looks, even though she knows as a soldier she should keep it short. She was in love once, but she doesn't talk about him. You can tell because she has this necklace and it’s got the heraldry from a minor house in Hercinia; she looks at it when she’s tired—” Iris suddenly cut off, seeing the tightness around Emma’s eyes. “Oh… I’m… I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Emma replied.

“I suppose my timing could use some work,” Iris laughed nervously. “But you’ve proven your point. I accept. It’s not like you would have taken no for an answer.”

“I would have,” Xander explained. “If your issue went further than confidence. So now that’s out of the way, and we can map out our plan of attack.”

“Should we—” Emma began.

Xander cut her off with a wave of his hand; “No. You’re part of my War Council, and I would see you a part of this. Now, Commander, in your professional opinion, do you think Corypheus’s zeal to restore ancient Tevinter is a prelude to war with the Imperium?”

Cullen pursed his lips and scratched at his chin; “I get the feeling we’re dealing with extremists; not a vanguard of a true invasion.”

“Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago,” Josephine input. “What Corypheus seeks to restore no longer exists, though they would shed no tears if the South fell to chaos. Of that, I’m certain.”

"You’re certainly right on that front,” Xander said quietly, pacing back and forth. The new heels on his shined boots clicked on the stones, permeating the quiet with a staccato rhythm. “Next big concern—could his dragon really be an Archdemon? Leliana?”

The Spymaster pulled a face and stood a little taller. Her voice was grave; “It would mean the beginning of another Blight.”

Iris felt like a shard of ice had been lodged in her spine; two Blights in an Age? If anyone was looking for signs the world was coming to an end, she was sure that was at the top of the list. 

“We’ve seen no Darkspawn other than Corypheus himself,” Josephine assured. “So perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all, but something… different?”

“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous,” Cullen inserted like it wasn’t obvious. “Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we _cannot_ ignore.”

“I don’t dispute that, Commander,” Xander sighed, rolling his neck and shoulders. “We have walls to keep us safe; we have soldiers and the ambassador was just speaking to me of supply lines. What we _don’t_ have is information. Someone, _somewhere_ must know something of this Corypheus.”

“Unless they saw him on the field,” Cullen countered. “Most won’t believe he even exists.”

“We do have one advantage,” Leliana offered conspiratorially. “Thanks to the dark future you witnessed, we know he plans to summon an army of demons; and there were plans of an assassination attempt against Empress Celene at Therinfal.”

“Imagine the chaos her death would cause!” Josephine exclaimed. “With his army—”

“One bolstered by demons,” Cullen growled. Iris couldn’t help but stare at the stiff line of his back and shoulders—a stance of anger...and fear.

“Corypheus could conquer the _entire south of Thedas,_ ” Josephine said. “God or no God.”

“I’d feel better if we knew about what we were dealing with,” Leliana sighed. 

“I know someone who can help with that.”

Iris jumped nearly a foot in the air, whirling in place. She felt her hands spark slightly until she realized it was just Varric emerging from the shadows; “How long have you been waiting to do that?”

“Easy, Firefly,” Varric shot back with a grin. “I was coming to fetch our illustrious leader and couldn’t help but overhear.”

“What’s going on, Varric?” Xander asked easily, though his posture was a bit more… defensive than it had been a few moments before. 

“Everyone acting all… inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing,” Varric explained. “She can help.”

“I’m always looking for new allies,” Xander said in a deceptively light tone. “Introduce me.”

Varric cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder; “Parading around might cause a fuss… it’s better for you to meet privately. On the battlements.”

Iris didn’t miss the pointed look Josephine and Leliana shared as Varric walked away. 

“Well,” Josephine began awkwardly. “We stand ready to move on both of these concerns; Iris, I have some correspondence to sift through. I would appreciate it if you would help me?”

“Yes. Emma, if you could report to me at your earliest convenience, I can fill you in on guard rotations and Mage and Templar housing situations,” Cullen added. “We await your order, Inquisitor.”

“I know one thing,” Leliana giggled before placing a hand on Alyx’s arm. “If Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him. Now, Alyx, if you’ll come with me to the Rookery, I’ll introduce you to our most valuable agents.”

~~~

The finery Xander wore was tighter than he was used to, and more extravagant. He was aware of how it made him look—and acutely aware of the looks the serving girls gave him as he passed—and he couldn’t help the bitter thought that kept surfacing. His mother would _absolutely_ approve of everything that had occurred in Skyhold thus far, with the exception of the dust and debris. 

He still hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Iris; he desperately wanted to share everything with her, from his decade-long silence to the events of the future he’d witnessed. She deserved that honesty from him. But the whirlwind of activity he’d been caught in from the moment they arrived at the keep had drawn them apart. He idly hoped she would be happy working with Josephine, and he mused whether it was a good idea to have the ambassador keep an eye on her. 

He mounted the stairs to a hidden, isolated corner of the battlements. Varric stood out of sight with a tall, slender woman in dark leathers. Her long, dark hair was caught in a simple braid over her shoulder, and her dove-grey eyes were framed with thick lashes. Other than that, her features were a bit too… strong for traditional beauty, and despite her simple clothes, he could see the casual confidence with which she held herself that spoke of danger. The only weapon she carried was the too-simple staff on her back. 

_A mage?_

“Inquisitor,” Varric began tentatively. “Meet Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Hawke huffed out a quick laugh; “Though I don’t use that title much anymore.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Hawke, the Inquisitor,” Varric offered, waving his hand in Xander’s general direction.

“Goodness, Varric, but he’s a big one,” Hawke interjected with a smirk. “You never mentioned that.”

“Might not want to say that if the elf ever shows up,” Varric murmured. “I would rather see our Inquisitorialness live to defeat Corypheus. Figured you’d have some advice on that front.”

Hawke shrugged and approached Xander with a casual saunter; she was like a woman from a totally different world than him. He’d read the _Tale of the Champion_ (more times that he cared to admit) and it hadn’t prepared him for the flesh-and-blood woman in front of him. Her grin was wide, but her eyes were tight and sad. She toyed with the braid like she wasn’t quite used to it being there, and she seemed uncomfortable in the simple clothes. 

“So what do you suggest, then?” Xander asked. 

“I don’t know,” Hawke replied with a shrug. “You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard; I broke some statues and hit him with a lightning bolt. Not sure what else to tell you.”

“Says the woman who saved a city from a horde of rampaging Qunari,” Xander riposted. 

Hawke snorted; “Not sure how that applies, although if there’s a horde of rampaging Qunari, give me a holler. Apparently, it’s my specialty.”

“There’s _a_ Qunari,” Xander chuckled. “He almost qualifies as a horde all by himself. Fortunately, he’s on our side.”

“Oh, I like him Varric,” Hawke laughed. “So, Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan. What can I tell you?”

Xander made a face at his title, and decided on the spot he hated it; “Xander, if you don’t mind. And Varric said you fought Corypheus before?”

“Fought and killed,” Hawke countered, her whole demeanor shifting to sudden seriousness. “The Grey Wardens were holding him. He somehow used his connection to the Darkspawn to influence them.”

“Corypheus got into their heads,” Varric interjected, toying with the neck of a bottle. “Messed with their minds… turned them against each other.”

“If the Wardens have disappeared—” Hawke began.

“They have,” Xander interrupted. 

Hawke nodded gravely; “Then there’s a chance they’ve fallen under his control again. It’s possible it can be reversed, but we need to know more first.”

“Alright, Hawke,” Xander sighed, leaning against the battlements. He saw dust collect on the black velvet, and made a mental note to apologize to Josephine about that. “I’ll bite. What do you suggest?”

“I’ve got a friend in the Wardens who may be able to help, but we’ve recently lost contact,” Hawke explained, pacing back and forth. 

“Did your ‘friend’ disappear with the Wardens?” Varric asked archly. 

“No,” Hawke answered, crossing her arms almost petulantly. 

“So how can your friend help?” Xander asked. “If you don’t know where—”

“Oh, I can dig up one of our old rendezvous points,” Hawke replied flippantly. “A favorite was an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood. Very _cozy._ ”

“Varric gave the impression you only just now found out about Corypheus,” Xander pressed. “So what were you doing with the Wardens?”

“The Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of Lyrium,” Hawke answered with a shudder. “It was red… I’d hoped the Wardens might know more, but I got suspicious when I tried to contact my baby brother and didn’t hear back from him.”

“You know Junior hates it when you call him your ‘baby brother,’ Hawke,” Varric chuckled. 

“That’s largely why I do it,” Hawke retorted. 

“Red Lyrium?” Xander interjected. “You mean… there’s _more_?”

“What do you mean _more?_ ” Hawke asked, arching her brow. 

“The Templars at Therinfal were taking Red Lyrium,” Xander answered. “Emma… one of my high-level agents discovered its use. I didn’t realize it was so prolific.”

“Ooh, he has high level agents, Varric,” Hawke intoned. 

“Don’t mock the Inquisitor, Hawke,” Varric chided playfully. 

“Do you two always joke around like this?” Xander asked, running his hand through his ponytail.

“Of course not,” Hawke replied. “I need to sleep once in awhile.”

Xander rolled his eyes; “Well, I appreciate the help, regardless.”

“We should swap war stories later,” Hawke replied. “I’d love to tell you all about how I killed Corypheus over ale sometime. Hopefully, when we do it this time, it sticks.”

“Can I ask you something, Hawke?” Xander asked. 

“Sure,” she replied. “Just not about Anders. I don’t want to have to tell that story. Again.”

“Well, I was under the impression your companions left Kirkwall with you,” Xander pressed. 

“Aveline stayed in Kirkwall,” Hawke corrected. “I’m pretty sure the city would fall into the sea if she left the guard.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re alone,” Xander retorted.

Marian snorted under her breath; “Who said I’m alone?”

As if summoned by her words, a figure emerged from the back stairs leading to the more isolated parts of the keep. Xander had to admire him—he was quite striking—though he wasn’t sure where to look. His long white hair was caught in a simple tail, exposing his tapered, elven ears; sinuous white tattoos twined over what dark, golden brown skin was left exposed by his practical travelling leathers. 

“Stairs are clear,” he reported in a deep, gravelly voice. “We have about twenty minutes before the guard rotation; if you would like to remain unseen, I suggest departing before then.”

“Thank you, love,” Hawke replied, tipping her face towards him. 

The elf smiled softly, grasped her chin in gentle fingers, and slanted his mouth over hers. Their kiss, though short and chaste, was devastatingly sweet, even to an onlooker. Varric's awkwardness was palpable, although the ease of the affection suggested it wasn’t uncommon. 

“Broody!” Varric exclaimed, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?” 

The elf wrapped a casual arm around Hawke’s waist; she leaned into the touch as his thumb caressed the curve of her hip; “You didn’t honestly think I would let Hawke do this _alone_ , did you?” 

“Inquisitor,” Hawke began around a chuckle. “Sorry, _Xander_ , this is Fenris, my… hmm… We didn’t really get married, in the strictest sense, so can I call you my husband?”

“You may _,_ Hawke,” Fenris replied, nudging her forehead with his. 

“Well, if Fenris is back, that’s my cue to leave,” Hawke sighed. “I will return, Xander. Oh, but before I go, give this to your Commander. I’m sending word to a friend of mine who can help interrupt some Red Lyrium shipments on the Storm Coast; she could use some backup.”

Hawke handed Xander a crumpled piece of parchment. With no fanfare and little more than a wave, Fenris took Hawke’s hand in his and they disappeared down the steps. They were so quiet as they left, Xander knew they would never be seen. 

“Well,” Varric said, clearing his throat. “That was…”

“The word you’re looking for is interesting, Varric,” Xander quipped. “Maker, you’d think you _weren’t_ a writer.”

“Okay, remind me never to let you and Hawke spend more than a few consecutive hours together,” Varric riposted. “You’ll be insufferable afterwards.”

~~~

Cullen glared at the complicated chart he used to keep the guard rotations straight. He knew no one in Thedas would be able to interpret it except himself, and part of him liked it that way. He liked the familiar ease of directing troop movements and securing supply lines. With their increased influence, he knew the Inquisition would expand, and thankfully it seemed he had the raw recruits to accomplish his needs. 

The first thing he’d done when they arrived in Skyhold was walk the battlements, assessing their position. He would _not_ be surprised again. He wouldn’t fail the Herald—the Inquisitor—again. He’d already failed _everyone_ in Haven. Too many lives had been lost before they escaped; some of his soldiers had been among the casualties, and they’d taken up their arms because of his order. He would not make the same mistakes twice. 

“Thankfully,” Cullen mumbled under his breath. “Skyhold is more defensible than Haven, and the position allows for greater visibility in all directions.”

Rylen, his second in command, ran his finger down a list; “Unfortunately, with the increased area, our guards are stretched a bit thin. There could be holes in the rotation—enough for those with unsavory intentions to get in and get out without being noticed.”

Cullen chuckled; “Rylen, you can say assassins. Saying the word does not summon them.”

“They do in Antiva,” Rylen riposted with a cocked brow. “Or that’s what me Ma always said.”

“Well, if our luck holds out, we won’t have any Crows descend upon us,” Cullen replied. 

He picked up the guard roster, intending to possibly bolster numbers, when he caught sight of the Inquisitor descending the stairs. Cullen straightened, pulling his shoulders back. It was ridiculous, but he was intimidated by the man. It wasn’t often Cullen had to look _up_ to look someone in the eye. 

“Commander,” the Inquisitor greeted with a nod.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen returned, resisting the urge to snap into a sharp salute. Maker’s Breath, they were _equals_. “We were just setting guard rotations and reviewing supply lines.”

“Anything I should know?” The Inquisitor asked, glancing over Cullen’s shoulder at the table full of reports. He scowled at it; clearly, he couldn’t interpret it. 

“We’re stretched a bit thin, but we’ll manage,” Cullen answered. “Better than Haven, though. We set up as best we could, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon—or whatever it was. With some _warning_ , we might have—”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Cullen,” he assured. “We were _all_ shaken by what happened.” 

_What happened as a result of my incompetence, you mean._ Cullen shook the dark thought off and turned back to his little table; “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw… and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready! We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

“Cullen, please,” the Inquisitor sighed. “Please, call me Xander. Especially in situations such as these.”

“It would be inappropriate, but… I will do my best,” Cullen replied, shooting a dark look at Rylen when he (poorly) tried to conceal a chuckle within a cough. “Forgive me.”

Xander cocked a brow at Rylen before turning back to the table; “It was pretty touch and go after Haven. Before I was… found, how was everyone? How did they hold up? Did most make it out of Haven?”

“More than I’d anticipated,” Cullen answered, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“So no issues, then?” Xander pressed.

“You mean before or after that spitfire of a Mage nearly roasted the Commander’s arse?” Rylen interjected, staring archly at the Inquisitor.

Cullen glowered at his second, mentally making note to assign him to the Fallow Mire for a rotation, but Xander would not be distracted; “What? You mean Alyx? I’m pretty sure that’s how she shows affection.”

“No,” Rylen continued. “The little one.”

Rylen held his hand to about chest height, and Xander’s eyes widened; “Iris? My sister, Iris?”

“Is she?” Rylen asked with an arched brow. If not for the solemnity of the conversation, Cullen might have laughed at the almost comical disbelief on Rylen’s face, and he couldn’t blame him—the Inquisitor was near a foot taller than his younger sister. “Makes sense why the Commander isn't pushing for a punishment, then. No offense Ser, but that little girl charged at the Commander with a fireball the size of my head in her hand.”

“Iris had a moment of panic over your possible demise,” Cullen assured. “She saw me as the one who gave the order and reacted accordingly. I will not see her punished for reacting as anyone would at the possible loss of a family member.”

Cullen couldn’t get her agonized expression out of his head; she’d been distraught, and he wouldn’t have deserved any less if she _had_ used that fireball on him. Something in his chest pulled tight and _twisted_ ; he recognized the keen sensation as _guilt._ He never wanted to cause that in her again, and if that meant never facing her outside of professional obligation, so be it. 

“Commander, is this true?” Xander asked. Cullen noted the use of his title. 

“Again, she was reacting accordingly to grief,” he said. “It was a moment of anger. Nothing more.”

“Still, I would prefer if the members of my inner circle weren’t throwing fireballs at one another,” Xander countered.

“To be fair, Iris is the only one likely to do that,” Cullen quipped. 

Xander snorted under his breath, trying _very hard_ to look dignified and failing; “Even so. She owes you an apology.”

“For that and other things,” Rylen murmured, pointedly ignoring Cullen’s dark glare. _Two rotations in Fallow Mire, then._

“I don’t want to keep you, Cullen,” Xander sighed, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. It was a nervous gesture Cullen was _intimately_ familiar with, and he wondered off-hand if the Inquisitor would be offended if he recommended a good potion for headaches. He was becoming quite good at selecting the ones with a decent effectiveness-to-aftertaste ratio. “But I just remembered there was an actual purpose for me coming to find you. I have a piece of correspondence for you from… a mutual friend. She gave a tip about a Red Lyrium shipment up the Storm Coast; perhaps we might want to get involved?”

“I will look into this,” Cullen said, taking the crumpled parchment. “Thank you.”

Xander nodded and strode away, heading back towards the Keep proper. Cullen waited until he was gone before opening the note. He heaved a great sigh—he’d seen enough lewd poetry in this particular handwriting to recognize it. 

“Maker’s Breath, anyone but _her._ ”

~~~

Xander spent a good deal of time searching for Iris; it was a mess in the keep. Everyone was looking for a place to set up and call their own, but the large state of disrepair made it near unlivable for the time being. Thankfully, Josephine appeared to be some sort of miracle worker, because it had barely been a few hours and scaffolding was already going up. When Iris couldn’t be found on the bottom or top floors of Skyhold proper, he turned to Josephine, who promptly directed him to Solas. 

The rotunda the elf had claimed for himself was a nice space, and he’d already laid out what few possessions he had. Xander caught the smell of pigment—was Solas making paint? Thankfully, Iris was with the elf, as Josephine had said. They seemed deep in a discussion that involved something magical and complex Xander couldn’t hope to understand.

“It’s not unlike what you conjure now,” Solas intoned, moving a ball of green flame from palm to palm. “Except you are not willing actual flame—merely the memory of it. Might be a touch more useful down there; we don’t want those tomes to catch fire.”

“I already singed a scroll when I was down there yesterday,” Iris replied with a giggle. “It’s strange; there are some places here where the Veil feels as strong as a locked chest. Yet in others, I swear I could pull it back like draperies. Are you sure I can will it down there and have it hold?”

“You need to just concentrate harder; you only need summon it once and it will hold,” Solas assured. “Less taxing on your mana than your standard. How did you learn to hold it for so long?”

“Nighttime reading in the Circle,” Iris answered. “As I got older, the flame got bigger and easier to maintain; I barely feel the pull on my mana at all.”

“I doubt the Templars were fond of you casting magic in your quarters,” Solas chuckled. Actually _chuckled_ , with a real smile and everything! Xander felt he might faint dead away.

“It helps to learn their rotations, and I am a fast learner,” she smiled before calling forth the cool green flame from her fingertips. She fairly squealed with delight as she passed it from palm to palm. 

“Learning rotations and conjuring weird fire in one conversation?” Xander intoned, slapping his hand over his heart in mock horror. “Should I be concerned?

“Look!” Iris exclaimed, holding out the flame for his inspection. “I did it!”

“I have every faith that you can do just about anything you set your mind to,” Xander assured. “But very good. I don’t understand it, but very good.”

“I’m going to use it in the library downstairs,” Iris said with a hint of manic glee in her eyes. Xander wasn’t sure to be happy for her or absolutely terrified. Maker save the poor dust motes that dared touch whatever precious and priceless tomes she’d discovered. 

“Well, before you immerse yourself in the world of books and I never see you again, care to walk with me?” Xander asked, extending his elbow.

“Gladly,” she answered with a happy grin. 

Xander led them through the Keep and grounds to the back parts of the battlements; there was no sign that Hawke and Fenris had ever been there. It was eerie; “Iris, I need to talk to you. It’s about something… very important, though not altogether pleasant.”

Iris pursed her lips together before nodding for him to continue.

“I fear I have…” Xander began, cutting himself off with a huge sigh. “Maker, this all seemed so easy in theory. I’m sure you’re wondering… why I was the way I was. After Redcliffe.”

“I assumed that the revelation of there being someone behind all the Venatori activity was taxing,” Iris said, averting her eyes. “And we...we were on unsteady ground as it was.”

“That is certainly part of it,” Xander replied. “But it goes beyond that… Iris, I saw things when I went into the future. I saw… _horrible_ things that I never wanted to think about again. But I can’t build a relationship with you if the foundation is dishonesty. So I have to tell you… what I saw. The things I did.”

“Okay,” she choked breathlessly.

“When I went into the future,” Xander began haltingly. “I saw a world literally _consumed_ by the Breach. I saw familiar places corrupted with demons; imagine a world with no sunlight. I didn’t want you to ever see anything like it. I was… so angry. I was reckless. I had to kill people I loved; Andraste preserve me, but I almost died. I’m sure I would have, if not for Dorian’s quick thinking.”

“I was there wasn’t I?” She asked, staring somewhere into the middle distance.

“Yes,” Xander answered. “I wish… I will never unsee it, Iris. The image will be burned into my mind forever.”

“You said you had to kill people you loved,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly. “It was me. You had to kill me.”

“Maker, you’re smart,” Xander chuckled, though it sounded dry and thin even to his own ears. “Yes. I did. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but you literally begged me to. You were all but consumed by Red Lyrium—there was so little of you left—you’d been driven mad by the pain. I will spare you the more gruesome details, but…”

“So you saved me then?” Iris offered, her eyes wide and soft. “You saved me from being lost to the Lyrium.”

“Intellectually, I understand that,” Xander assured. “And it’s getting better. It’s getting _easier._ But I don’t like the person that the grief and the regret made me. That, and the issue with the Circle and my silence… It made me into someone I’m not.”

“Does this mean you’re going to finally explain this whole Hasmal business?” She asked with a roll of her eyes, stopping him short. “Because, truly, that has been in the back of my mind for quite some time. I never once left Ostwick. Mother and Father would have been alerted; I received correspondence from them every four months—inquiries about my well being and my...they wrote.” 

Xander felt his back teeth clench, and he knew the muscles in his jaw were twitching. He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat; “Mother must have burned my letters in the early days. I wrote you at least once a week—sometimes more—when you left. Even before I knew you could read—I’d hoped maybe someone would read them to you, and if not, you would enjoy my terrible drawings, at least. You always did when you were small. But I never heard from you. When I was fifteen—maybe sixteen—I left home to travel. Just before I left, Mother said you’d been transferred to Hasmal.”

“So...she…” Iris choked on a heart wrenching sob, and Xander placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. “Maker she stopped loving me.”

“To be honest, Iris,” Xander growled bitterly, grasping Iris’s hand in his free one. “I don’t think Mother ever _loved_ either of us. Not in the way a mother is supposed to love her children, anyway. She tried to keep us apart; if I know _Mother_ , she didn’t want you thinking you had a brother out there who loved you. It might have given you the impression that you had an option outside of a prison.”

“I thought...I thought that they had to write to me the way that they did,” she gasped, staring up to stem the flow of tears. It didn’t work, and the rolled wet and fat over her cheeks. “I thought that if they wrote to me in a way that only asked about my health and safety, it meant they could continue to write. Almost none of the other apprentices received letters; they said their families weren't allowed to. I thought they did it that way because they cared. They just didn't want me to try and leave...and come back.”

Xander pulled back from her, grasping her narrow shoulders gently. He brushed her dark hair back from her face and smiled as best he could; “For what it’s worth, Iris… I do love you. I will _always_ love you, and you will always have a place at my side. No matter what happens.”

He drew her into the fiercest embrace, burying her against his chest. He ached inside when she returned the hug, gripping the back of his shirt. He felt tears sting his eyes briefly before they fell onto his cheeks; he’d given up on _this._ Forever. He’d never dared to dream Iris would be with him again, let alone here and accepting his affection openly. 

“I won’t fail you again,” he assured. “I promise. You’ll never be alone.”

“I thought you were dead,” she wailed, allowing the tears to flow freely. He held her through the shaking, racking sobs, content just being a shoulder to cry on. “I thought you were gone forever! I never got to tell you that I remembered. I remembered you and I remembered what it was like when we were children—you were my best friend...my hero! I’m sorry for forgetting you; I’m so sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Xander said thickly, trying his best to control his own tears. “You were always forgiven, Iris.”

They held each other a moment longer, like they were trying to imprint something very important on their very souls. Something had shifted between them, and he had a feeling it was for the better. 

“Well,” Xander sighed, swiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Now that’s out of the way, and I can talk to you about the incident on the mountain?”

“Which one?” Iris asked a bit too innocently, wiping at her face, unable to fully erase the dampness on her cheeks. “The one where the dragon showed up? The one where you brought a mountain down on the village? Or the one where we found you half frozen to death in the snow?”

“Iris,” Xander warned, arching his brow. “The Commander? Fireballs? Ringing any bells?”

“I didn’t actually throw the fireball at him,” she rejoined. “Just threatened to.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Xander quipped. “But in all seriousness, I think you should apologize.”

“To him? Are you serious?” Iris asked, arching an incredulous brow. “I did what every Mage in the Circle has wanted to do their entire lives—I challenged a Templar and made him see the _consequences_ of his decisions. He sent you to your death and for what?”

Xander felt his breath catch in his throat; “Iris, Cullen regrets his decisions, but he _is_ my Commander. I need him to have free reign to make the decisions that need to made, even if that means my demise. Also, he’s not a Templar.”

“Yes he is,” Iris argued. “I heard Leliana mention it, and Alyx confirmed. He was the Knight Captain from Kirkwall, so I can only imagine the sort of foulness he committed before all this.”

“You should remind yourself it was the Knight- _Commander_ that ordered many of the atrocities in Kirkwall—”

“He was still there, he was still a part of all of that,” Iris interrupted. “You don’t just leave the Order.”

“And he also stood with the Champion of Kirkwall—a Mage, if you’ll recall—when Meredith took it too far,” Xander pressed as though she didn’t speak. “And apparently, you _can_ leave the Order. The details are a mystery, but Cullen left the Order when he joined the Inquisition and he didn’t deserve your ire… or your fire.”

“He’s not a Templar? At all?” Iris asked disbelievingly before scoffing. “Must be nice to have the choice to leave that life; wish the rest of us could just choose to not be Mages.”

“You don’t mean that,” Xander countered, running his thumb over Iris’s knuckles.

“If I couldn't do this,” she said, conjuring flames in her hand. “Then you and I would have grown up together.” 

“And I would have frozen to death on the side of the Frostbacks,” Xander argued. “If you couldn’t do what you do, Iris… your fire saved my life. And to be honest, I don’t think leaving the Templars is as easy as all that. He hasn’t spoken to me about it, but… there’s something there. I _really_ think you should apologize.”

“Is that an order from the Inquisitor?” Iris pressed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“This isn’t an order from the Inquisitor, this is a request from your brother. Do it for me _?_ ” Xander asked, widening his eyes in that we he _knew_ made it very difficult to refuse him. His mother had called them his puppy-eyes. He wondered if they would work on Iris. The scrunching of her nose as she stared at him with her chin incredulously told him it did.

“Oh fine. I suppose it’s only fair to apologize to _someone_ after you nearly make them wet themselves. Don’t try to convince me otherwise; I’d like to think he came close. But, may I make one teeny tiny request?” She said giving him the same wide eyed stare he had used on her, and he realized that what worked for him went both ways with her.

_Oh, she’s good. Apparently, the eyes are genetic._

“Yes you may wait until tomorrow,” he conceded with an affectionate shove of her shoulder. “Go have fun in your library; just try not to burn the place down.”

“Veilfire doesn’t burn silly. Look,” she exclaimed, conjuring the strange green flames and holding them close to his face. He didn’t feel the familiar heat of normal flames, but still held his hand up instinctively to protect his face.

“Alright, Iris, you’ve proven your point,” Xander recoiled in mock horror. “Now please, watch the eyebrows. I work very hard to maintain this casually rugged appearance, you know.”

“Yes and I’m sure there’s a certain mage around here who appreciates it...You know Xander, I’m not the only one who helped that night. Dorian was there too—you might want to thank him as well. He worked tirelessly to warm your...extremities,” she quipped with a wink before taking off with a certain bounce in her step.

If anyone asked later, Xander would vehemently deny blushing to his hairline. 

~~~

Alyx stared at the rack of practice swords, biting the inside of her lip. She’d been avoiding Emma ever since Haven, and she knew it. Seeing Emma’s reaction when she’d been wounded…. Alyx just didn’t know how to do this whole… _family_ thing. The only ‘family’ she’d known had turned their backs on her the second they knew she was a mage. She’d had precious few friends in her life, even. 

Ugh, now she was just being stupid. This would work. It was the best idea she’d had, anyway. She grabbed two of the swords and stomped off past the Rest in the direction of the ramparts where her cousin would probably be. 

Sure enough, Emma was up there, leaning on the parapets. Alyx smirked at the sight of her flawless blonde hair blowing in the breeze. She turned at the sound of someone approaching, and Alyx didn’t miss the surprised widening of her eyes. 

“Alyx?”

Alyx tossed one of the swords at her chest. Emma caught it readily, though her brow furrowed in confusion. Alyx just tilted her head towards the sparring ring in the courtyard and turned around, walking off towards it with a bounce in her step. 

~~~

_What is happening? Why does Alyx want to fight me? Use your words, Alyx! Should I be afraid? What did I do?_

Emma followed Alyx down the stairs towards the rough practice ring Xander had gotten set up for Emma and Cullen’s purposes. She turned the practice sword over in her hands, hefting its weight. She hadn’t used a wooden sword in _years_. 

“Alyx, what is going on?” Emma called. Alyx ignored her, making a beeline for the practice yard. _“Alyx!_ ” They passed Iris on their way to the ring with a slight bounce in her step, her cheeks ruddy and wind-bitten. “Iris! Why does Alyx want to fight me?”

“Oh? Well, I guess she does like you then. I’d love to watch but I have an entire library to browse! Bye!”

“ _Traitor!_ ” Emma called petulantly. Alyx was already in the ring, swinging her arms in front of her to loosen her shoulders. Emma hopped over the fence, her boots sinking into the loamy soil. The ground was uneven. “You want to tell me what this is about, Alyx?”

“What, you’ve never sparred before, Princess?” Alyx growled, her lips pulling up in a fierce grin.

“Yes, back in Templar training,” Emma retorted. “So, what, just practice swords? No spells? What did I do this time?”

Alyx didn’t answer, and instead flew forward, bringing the wooden sword down in a wild, overhand swing. Emma only just got her weapon up in time to stop the thing from cracking her skull open. With a push of her upper body, Alyx went stumbling back. She didn’t let Emma rest, however, as she sprang forward again, this time feinting left and swinging the sword around Emma’s ankles. 

Emma leapt to avoid the swing, but the damp soil threw off her balance, sending her tumbling. She rolled onto her shoulder, springing back up. Alyx wasn’t going to let her play the dance-and-defend game, so it seemed offense was her best bet. She dropped into her stance, holding her practice sword like she would hold her Spirit Blade. She leapt forward, dodging around Alyx’s wild side swing, and rapping her sharply at the curve of her waist. 

Alyx hissed in pain, rolling forward, and whirling wildly; she lunged, catching Emma across the shoulder. Emma swore under her breath, but did note that Alyx’s signature scowl was not in place; she was grinning widely. Maniacally. Emma recoiled and didn’t notice Alyx going low, hooking her foot around Emma’s ankle and sending her sprawling. The air went out of her lungs as Alyx let out a belly laugh. It wasn’t mocking, but… joyful?

“Come on, Princess,” Alyx quipped, circling her slowly. “Afraid to get a little muddy?”

Emma snarled, lurching herself upwards with a kick, dropping again into her stance. Alyx took the opportunity and surged forward. They did this for some time, each girl landing quick blows that didn’t do damage, but _Maker_ , they hurt. Alyx was favoring the knee that Emma had missed and Emma was clutching a particularly tender spot on her ribs. Still, Alyx kept on smiling, like she was having the time of her life. 

“Tell me _why_ , Alyx?” Emma exclaimed. “What did I do?”

“She likes you, but doesn’t know how to say it to you. _Family...what’s that? What am I supposed to do, hug her?_ Sparring is _important_. Maybe it will work instead.”

Emma whirled; Cole was perched on one of the fence posts. So he _was_ still around?

“When I met you, you hurt each other. Different and divided. Now, different, but together. Did I help?” 

Emma reinterpreted the moment; the silent request, the wide grin, the bright laughter… This was Alyx’s stupid _stupid_ way of extending the proverbial olive branch. And, Andraste preserve her, she wasn’t going to waste it. 

“Yes, you did, Cole,” Emma replied with a soft smile. Then, she turned to Alyx. “Alright, _Sparky,_ show me what you got!”

~~~

_I belong somewhere now; they let me stay._

The boy known as Cole was a mystery to many. Those who remembered him described a young man with haunted eyes. Those who didn’t simply scoffed at anyone who claimed he existed. Cole didn't mind; those who needed to remember him did, and those that did not...they were better that way.

Lightning and Snow, they defended him. Told the Inquisitor that he was special, that he helped them. Because he did, he helped them see. Now they were better. They still had holes in them, almost everyone in Skyhold did. So many pearls of pain and he was trying very hard to loosen them. 

_Its a demon, it needs to go!_

The horned lady...she didn't like him. But it wasn't her fault. She was taught to fear him and all of his kind. But he wasn’t the kind she thought he was. But he understood why she didn't see that. 

_He is a spirit of Compassion made flesh._

Solas understood him best. He liked him, even though his other face was a shadow. He tried to help, but something pushed him out. He didn’t try again.

_Do you like to read? Can you read? If you can’t, I can read to you._

Firefly, that's what they called her. Kin to Lightning and Snow...no, Alyx and Emma. Alyx and Emma; he needed to remember that. Needed to remember what they looked like outside of the Fade and not in. Iris was Firefly; she was nice. He liked to listen to her when she was in the library; she read books like they were meant to be read. Stories. So many stories.

_Okay Kid remember now, when you meet people you say hello. If you’re going to dig in their heads the least you can do is introduce yourself first._

Varric was his friend. There was no need to worry about him. 

_Cole I know you’re trying to help but don’t. That's not a hurt you can heal._

Emma was sad, he wanted to make her forget, but...she didn't want to forget him. Ulrich, kissed me on the head before he left. I should have gone, why did I let him leave me behind?

_Rebel mage turned high ranking agent of the Inquisition? What happened to me? We were supposed to_ —

No she doesn't want me to see or talk about that, it won't help. Already tried, she said to leave that one alone.

_All right Cole, you can stay. Consider yourself part of the Inquisition._

Xander, he needed him the most. So much pain, so many doubts, why? Too bright sometimes, like counting birds against the sky. He doesn’t know how to let himself be happy. Maybe if I help him, they can both be happy.


	18. Chapter 18

_“This isn’t an order from the Inquisitor, this is a request from your brother. Do it for me?”_

He had looked at her with those damn puppy dog eyes; how could she say no?

Not a Templar anymore? How was that even possible? She had never known of anyone leaving the Order by choice. Yet Cullen had—why? It was a question she considered asking him herself as she made her way to the tower where he had taken up residence. Iris was still in awe of the castle and the freedom she had to roam wherever she pleased within it. So many pathways and rooms, she often thought to herself that she might get lost one day and reappear years later still not having learned all its secrets.

_Focus, Iris; you need to stay focused._

She opened the door to Cullen’s office without knocking; she remembered herself (and her oft forgotten manners) and nearly turned to leave and do it properly. That was before she was transfixed by the sight in front of her.

_Cullen. Shirtless. Descending from the ladder that led to his quarters. Oh Maker…_

“I...uh...Commander?” she stammered out.

“Yes, what?” Cullen snapped, pursing _those lips_ in apparent agitation. His eyes widened when he saw her, though he made no effort to cover himself, the bastard. “Oh, Lady Trevelyan, my apologies. I didn’t know you were here.”

Iris stared, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. He was so... _big_ , with strong swordsman’s shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist. The flat expanse of his stomach rippled with thick, powerful muscle, and his hands (those perfect hands that she was absolutely not imagining elsewhere) brushed through those perfectly ruffled curls, sending droplets cascading over his chiseled jaw and prominent collarbone. 

“Is there something you needed?” He asked, quirking his brow at her like she wasn’t quite well.

“You, ummm, you’re wet,” she remarked flatly, noticing the water dripping down from his hair. It made his blonde curls glisten golden when the sunlight hit them.

Cullen looked down at himself and blushed to the tips of his ears when he realized what had so distracted Iris: his lack of a shirt. He stammered out an apology as he rummaged about the office for something to cover himself with. Iris nearly gasped aloud when she saw the scars crisscrossing his back—strange looking claw marks along his shoulders. The skin was greyish purple, like it never fully healed, and were it not for the jaggedness to the edges, she would have thought they had happened during the throes of passion. But Iris knew better. They were the marks of a desire demon, and she could see he had taken quite the beating from one. She felt a sting of regret in her gut. She had forgotten that Templars often faced the same terrors as Mages, only they _chose_ to face them.

Iris breathed a sigh of relief when he finally found a shirt, though it was short lived when he turned around. The white linen clung to his muscles and the deep V of the collar only served to add more emphasis to the tight cording of his throat. She felt a fluttering in her stomach but quickly pushed it away. Templar or not, one didn't indulge in such fantasies.

“Again, my apologies. I truly was not expecting company today,” he murmured quietly, still blushing. The pinkish glow across high cheekbones made him too attractive, and he needed to _stop_. “Did your brother send you here? Does he need something?” 

“Yes and no, Xander did send me here,” Iris began haltingly. She pursed her lips, trying to find the right words—she averted her eyes in an attempt to gather her thoughts. “But he doesn't need something from you; the request was made of me.”

“I don’t understand,” Cullen replied with a quirked brow.

“He wants me to apologize to you for what happened after the avalanche,” Iris rattled off too quickly, still staring at her shoes. “Some details about you have been brought to my attention and it changes things.”

“Details such as?” He narrowed his eyes dangerously; she was sure he wasn’t expecting her to catch the tightening of his knuckles on his desk.

“The fact that you are no longer part of the Templar Order.”

“I see,” he sighed, a small breath of relief creeping into his voice. 

“I shouldn't have said the things I said to you,” Iris continued. “I was angry. I was scared, and most of all I needed someone to take those feelings out on. You should not have been the victim of my tirade. No one should have been, and I would very much like to find a way for us to make amends.”

“I should be the one apologizing to you,” he interjected, meeting her eyes evenly. “I sent your brother out there, I was the one who made the suggestion and—”

“You made a decision as our Commander. A decision no one should have had to make,” Iris interrupted. “The fault is mine for allowing my prejudices against your Order—justified as they may be—and my own fears to guide me that night.”

“Former Order,” he corrected.

“Yes, former Order,” Iris amended. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, suddenly achingly curious. “Why is that, if you do not mind my asking?”

“Many things occurred during my time as a Templar,” Cullen explained smoothly, though the hints of years-old fears crept into the corners of his eyes. “Things I do not wish to discuss at the moment.”

“Does this have to do with the scars on your back?” Iris asked suddenly, mentally kicking herself for her apparent lack of a filter that morning.

“Yes,” Cullen choked on his reply. 

“I’m sorry for whatever happened to you,” she fairly whispered.

“I appreciate that,” he said with a small, genuine smile. “I let what happened cloud my judgement for some time. I didn’t see Mages as people; I held a great deal of anger and prejudice against them.”

“There is anger and prejudice on both sides,” Iris assured.

“True, but I will say this,” Cullen added. “Most Mages, I am sure, have very good reason to fear and mistrust Templars.”

“Given our abilities and the risks involved,” she began. “Some level of fear and mistrust is understandable from their side. Perhaps with the Inquisition, we can find a new balance. One where there need not be anymore fear on either side. You could return to the Order if you wanted to.”

“That is not a decision I will be making,” Cullen remarked, crossing his arms defensively. “My departure is...a permanent one.”

“Couldn't handle the celibacy?” Iris quipped with a giggle, hoping to bring some humor to the otherwise weighted discussion—a tactic she had picked up from Alyx.

“Celibacy isn’t a requirement of being a Templar,” Cullen sighed with a put-upon roll of his eyes. “They can marry, but the Order must grant permission. There are those who give up more to prove their devotion, but it was never a requirement.”

“So did you?” Iris asked, again cursing her forthrightness.

“Did I give up...I...uh no I’ve not taken such vows...Maker’s Breath can we speak of something else?” He ran his hand over the back of his neck, his flush tinging darker and creeping to the tips of his ears again. 

“You’re blushing,” Iris pointed out with a slight giggle. Ribbing the Commander shouldn’t have brought her this much pleasure, but it was nice to see him squirm.

“Given the nature of the conversation,” he coughed, not meeting her eyes. “You can hardly blame me, Miss Trevelyan.”

“Please don’t call me that, or Lady Trevelyan,” she requested with a twist of her mouth. “It feels like I am back in the Circle again.”

“My apologies Iris,” he said with a sheepish grin. Her stomach flipped, and she felt a little dizzy. “Formality is a hard habit to break.”

“What about you?” Iris asked, too suddenly and too loudly.

“What about me?”

“Do you prefer Cullen or Commander?” She pressed. 

“If you prefer to call me Cullen,” he replied, his smile widening slightly. He hadn’t averted his eyes from hers. “You may.”

“All right then...Cullen it is,” she said in a shaky voice. She extended her hand out to him in a gesture of friendship—his handshake was firm and his fingers were rough with calluses. Her hand seemed so small when it was held in his. 

“I rather like the sound of that,” he mused, allowing his fingers to squeeze lightly.

“Well then, Cullen, I suppose you have important Commander duties to attend to. I shall take my leave then,” she said and mentally smacked herself for the light curtsy she gave. _Pull it together Iris, he’s not some noble. Just a very attractive former Templar…_

_Once a Templar, always a Templar_ , a dark voice that sounded too much like Alyx reminded her. She shook her head as she walked away and tried to think happy thoughts. She had no duties to speak of that day, she had all the time she wanted to pore over the books in her little library. Books—they could always be trusted. Books didnt look at you with warm amber eyes and make you feel like your entire stomach was going ass over teakettle. 

_Damn him for looking like he did, stupid face, stupid scar, stupid..._ everything.

~~~

Xander stood before the throne of the Inquisitor, and his chest felt like it was being crushed. Josephine was explaining the necessity of it, and he understood. Of course he understood—the Inquisition was a sovereign power now. With that power came the responsibility to judge men and women who’d wronged the Inquisition. So why did he feel like Bull was straddling his ribcage? 

“Do I have anyone in particular?” Xander asked softly, glaring down at the doublet Josephine had laid out for him. It was far and away too tight across the chest and around the waist, or perhaps that was a panic attack waiting to happen. 

“You have Magister Gereon Alexius,” Josephine explained, and Xander shuddered at the name. He’d been dreading the moment he’d have to face that man again. “As well as Knight Captain Denam, from Therinfal.”

“Should I judge Denam?” Xander asked. “I wasn’t at Therinfal—he never wronged me.”

“No,” Josephine acquiesced. “But Emma was, and you’ve made her a high-ranking member of the Inquisition. As a side note, though it is related, the finery you wished commissioned for the girls have arrived and they are in their final fittings. Iris will probably need at least double what Alyx and Emma receive, if not more. I would very much like to discuss it with her.”

Xander chuckled under his breath; “That’s something you’ll have to speak to Iris about, but I have every faith that you’ll make a clothes horse out of her yet.”

Josephine grinned wryly; “Whenever you are ready, I can assemble the court for your judgement. I believe we should also publicly promote Emma, Iris and Alyx. It will feed rumors of favoritism if it’s all private.”

“I was planning on doing it publicly, Josephine,” Xander assured. “I want them established officially before I leave for Crestwood, but I don’t want it on the same day I judge Alexius and the Knight Captain. I will make sure to take care of them before I leave.”

“If I may ask—” Josephine began tentatively. 

“We will discuss it further when we adjourn to the War Table this afternoon,” Xander remarked. “Please have the court assembled in an hour, and make sure the girls are dressed to the nines. I would also like Cullen and Leliana present for this, if at all possible.”

As it turned out, it _was_ possible—Josephine continued to surprise him with her powers of ingenuity and improvisation. He ascended the short staircase to the thrones dais; with each step, he felt more eyes on him, and he was taken aback. Every noble who had come for the Inquisition seemed to be present. Vivienne observed from her perch above the Antechamber, while Varric tried too hard to look disinterested by his usual spot at the hearth. It seemed everyone was present, and he could see their faces with aching clarity. The low buzz of voices filled the hall with a strange energy. 

The throne was uncomfortable, made of slick red leather; the golden eye poked him in the back of the head—an ironic feature of the hard seat. This was a _joyous_ occasion; uplifting three hard-working members of the Inquisition in front of the eyes of the court and their allies, and he still felt a flutter of anxiety. He thought of the prisoners beneath Skyhold and hoped that maybe Josephine could conjure a reason for him to _not_ deal with them. But he knew… even Josephine’s infinite powers and supplies could not erase his responsibilities. 

The ambassador nodded at Xander when everyone had been assembled, and he assumed a posture he’d seen his father use—and his grandfather, and his uncles and even the Princes of Starkhaven and the King and Queen of Ferelden—of casual authority. His hips were pushed forward and one leg was carelessly tossed over the other. He sat straight and spoke from his core—his deep voice tended to _carry_ , and for once, he was grateful for it. 

“I call this session to order,” he declared, nodding to Josephine. “Madam Ambassador?”

“Thank you, your worship,” Josephine replied smoothly. “We are here today to review the services rendered to the Inquisition by Enchanters Iris Trevelyan and Alyx Trevelyan as well as Knight Enchanter Emma Trevelyan.”

“Ladies,” Xander began. “Please step forward.”

The girls approached the throne, dressed in brocades, polished armor, and capes of silk and velvet. Josephine had gone all out. He reiterated their accomplishments for the court—saving the Templars, saving him, their loyalty and devotion—while they recited scripted acceptances and took vows of fealty to the Inquisition. He named Emma the Battlemaster, Iris the Envoy and Alyx the Chamberlain. Leliana had not been clear what Alyx’s position was, only that she was to be publicly known as the Chamberlain. Xander knew there was more to it—given the disparity between Leliana’s official title and her actual duties—but chose not to press his Spymaster, and instead accepted their vows before the court. 

After the need for ceremony had taken place, he called for adjournment to the War Room. It took a moment to extricate himself from the nobles. He was sure many of them had come looking for bloodshed, but Xander was sick of it. He couldn’t believe it, but he was actually _looking forward_ to a trek through cold and rainy Ferelden.

Cullen, Leliana and Josephine had already gathered, and were poring over maps of the area. Small, pewter markers were in place over choice locations across Orlais, and he sighed deeply. He had a _lot_ of ground to cover. 

“It was a lovely ceremony,” Josephine commented as the gaggle of Trevelyans came through the door. “Although, Emma, did you _have_ to wear armor?”

“You named me Battlemaster,” Emma replied with a shrug. 

“Yeah, about that,” Alyx interjected. “‘Chamberlain?’ It makes me sound like I’m in charge of the Inquisitor’s chamber pot. I’m sure with our collective intelligence, we could have come up with something better.”

“Trust me, Alyx,” Leliana soothed with hard look. “This is for the best.”

“Fine,” Alyx acquiesced with a pout. Emma muffled a snicker behind her hand, which earned her a yank on her long ponytail from Alyx. “But I’m not throwing out your chamber pot, _Xander_.”

“You’ll forgive my petulant disappointment,” Xander quipped, trying to hide his weary sigh. Iris gave him a crumpled, concerned look, and he patted the hand that came to rest on his elbow. He hoped he was being reassuring when he grinned widely at her. “Now where are we on the Crestwood situation?”

“My agents saw to Hawke’s safe arrival,” Leliana answered. “She is lying in wait—apparently with this Warden friend of hers.”

“If Fenris is half as vigilant and watchful as he seemed, he’ll already know we were watching,” Xander offered. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Emma said. “But… _the_ Hawke? The Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke? And her elven lover? _She_ was Varric’s friend?”

“Yes,” Xander answered. “I apologize for not telling you.”

Iris looked positively star-struck, and he near had a laugh at her expense. It was only the knowledge that she wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture that stifled it. Emma had a tension around her eyes that unnerved him a bit—he would have to speak to her, when he got the time—and Alyx was almost _too_ collected. He chose to disregard for the time being, but he logged it away for future reference. He pinched the bridge of his nose—the headache blooming behind his eyes was truly spectacular. 

“I am taking a small team with me to Crestwood,” Xander continued. “How about our other bit of business, Commander?”

Cullen lifted his report, skimming it quickly; “We have received word from our scouts on the Storm Coast; the _Siren’s Call_ is anchored just off the coast, and they are ready to assist. I suggest sending a small team—I don’t think it’s something you should be doing personally.”

“Why is that?” Xander asked. “I can run up after I take care of Crestwood.”

“Your worship, if I may?” Cullen asked, leaning over the map and looking Xander dead in the eye. “You have to learn to delegate; we have no reports of rifts, and the Storm Coast is largely stable, save for this Red Lyrium operation. This is why we have the Chargers, or the soldiers.”

“Or the Mages and Templars,” Emma added. 

Xander scrubbed a hand through his hair; they weren’t exactly _wrong._ If he didn’t send people to handle tasks such as this, he’d never get back to Skyhold. He considered the people in his employ for a moment; “Send the Chargers, then. They know the terrain, and I trust Bull to get the job done.”

“Anyone else?” Cullen asked absently. 

“No, I think Bull can handle it,” Xander chuckled. “Ask him if he’d be willing; maybe make a few mentions of the Vint skulls he’d get to crack, and he’ll be eager enough.”

Cullen snickered under his breath; “Noted. Now, about the prisoners…”

“We can’t delay much longer,” Josephine said. “And I would recommend against judging them in private. Although it was likely for the best you separated the ceremony from them.”

“Thank you,” Xander replied. “What does my trusty council recommend? I’m sure you have thoughts, and Alyx and Emma were the only ones actually _at_ Therinfal.”

“As far as that is concerned, the Templars have very clear guidelines,” Emma replied. 

“Agreed,” Cullen added. “I say hand Denam to the Templars—their punishment may well be death, but they _are_ the wronged party.”

“What are my other options?” Xander asked. As fitting as Templar justice could be, he wasn’t sure how it would go over with the court… or his companions. “I’m not dismissing your counsel. Believe me.”

“Historically, the Seekers of Therinfal Redoubt had a specific punishment for officers who failed their charges,” Iris interjected. Xander shook his head—it amazed him that she could just rattle off obscure facts from the top of her head. “You could banish him to the Sea of Ash. It’s a wasteland, but there’s precedent.”

Emma made a face and Cullen’s mouth flattened into a thin line. Despite their silence, their actions and expressions spoke loud and clear—such banishment would be a fate worse than death. He knew little of the Sea of Ash except for horrible it was. 

“Emma? Cullen? Thoughts?” Xander pressed. 

“It’s just…” Emma swallowed hard. “I _knew_ Denam. I knew him well. He wasn’t always… he was a good man before Corypheus got his claws into him.”

“I _fundamentally disagree_ with that assessment,” Alyx interrupted. “He was raving when we found him.”

“I just think it’s cruel to banish a man who once served and served well to such a wretched place,” Emma countered. 

“You could always just take his head,” Cullen offered. “By your hand. It would solidify your authority over the Templars.”

“Is that what the Inquisition is going to be then?” Iris growled—a fierce sound he wasn’t used to from her. “A brute force offering death to those who oppose it? I offered banishment as there was a precedent for it, and you offer to cover my brother’s hands in blood as the alternative?”

“Iris,” Xander soothed. “He was merely offering a suggestion, and he’s not wrong. The Court will want to see his head roll, but I think such brutality will project savagery that I’m not sure is our best course of action.”

“It seems then,” Josephine said. “That Templar justice may be the best option. It would depict you as a man who trusts his allies; or it may show you as spineless, and not willing to make the hard decisions.”

“Spin it correctly, and we can assure our allies think the former,” Leliana assured. “As for the Magister…”

Xander felt his chest tighten. He was _too close_ to make the merciful call. He knew it. He still couldn’t shake the awful image of Iris’s mangled face, or the sound of her half-mad ramblings. He choked at the grief clawing at his throat, and felt his pulse slow when Iris placed a delicate and soothing hand on his forearm. 

“I figured King Alistair might have something to say about that,” Xander said. 

“Ferelden has handed him over to us as an acknowledgement of your aid,” Josephine said. “And Tevinter had disowned him and stripped him of his rank.”

Emma made a disgusted noise in her throat; “A symbolic gesture if I ever saw one.”

“Symbolic yes, but in Tevinter it holds meaning,” Iris commented. “Were he to ever return he would be no one, have no say in the Magisterium, and likely be only a step above a slave. To someone from Tevinter, this is the lowest he could fall.”

“I’m more concerned about that amulet,” Leliana mused. “It was… powerful magic. _Impossible_ magic. According to Lady Vivienne, all attempts at time magic before were unsuccessful.”

“Well, it’s not so impossible any more,” Xander muttered darkly. 

“That’s the point,” Leliana pressed. 

“I think what our Spymaster is so obliquely trying to say,” Emma chuckled. “Is that she thinks our best course of action is to put him to work. For us and _our_ cause. I certainly don’t disagree.”

“That actually surprises me,” Alyx remarked. 

“I may not agree with his methods,” Emma riposted. “But I think his knowledge is valuable, and applied to the correct cause, it could be used for great good.”

“It's a sound decision and one that does not require bloodshed. A learned mind is a horrible waste. Think of all the knowledge he has about the Venatori. Keeping him alive and working for us shows the Inquisition is a force that fights for good,” Iris added, smiling that sweet, soothing smile at him. 

Xander pressed his fingertips into his temples; it seemed they were in agreement on that front, at least. Leliana had privately suggested more punishing methods, such as execution or Tranquility. As _tempting_ as some of those offers were, he spoke for more than just himself. He couldn’t allow personal feelings to cloud his judgement, or add unnecessary severity to a far-reaching hand. As much as he, as a person, wanted to throw Alexius into a cell to _rot,_ he knew it would be a terrible waste.

“I leave for Crestwood in three day’s time,” he said. “I will take your council into consideration and judge them before my departure. In the meantime, are there any other concerns?”

“Other than the operations you had us working on, none that I can think of,” Cullen replied, his brows drawing down in a sympathetic grimace. 

“If I may, Inquisitor,” Emma interjected, wincing when he turned his glare on her. “I was just thinking… it may behoove us to train Iris and Alyx for combat.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Alyx said. 

“It would be prudent, considering your positions within the Inquisition,” Emma answered with a shrug. 

“Combat? With a spirit blade?” Iris asked with barely contained excitement. “Am I still allowed to do that?”

Emma laughed; “Yes, with a spirit blade. And yes, you are allowed to receive training, assuming you want to.”

“Josephine is as wicked with her daggers as she is with her tongue,” Leliana offered archly. 

Alyx snorted behind her hand and Josephine reddened to her hairline; “ _Leliana._ You will give them the wrong idea about me!”

“It’s up to you, Iris,” Xander said softly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Well, I don’t think Alyx has a choice,” Emma interjected. “She’s powerful, but if Haven is any indicator, she _literally_ can’t hold a barrier to save her life.”

“Oh, fuck you! I’m not dead yet, am I? Haven was hardly normal circumstances—” Alyx responded with a scowl. 

“What do you say, Iris?” Emma asked, ignoring Alyx’s indignance. “Would you like to learn the techniques of a Knight Enchanter?”

“Yes!” She squealed before composing herself quickly, but not before blushing at the chuckle from Cullen that turned to a poorly-concealed cough. “I would be honored to.”

“Excellent,” Emma replied. “Then I’ll speak with Josephine and see if we can work out a training schedule as soon as possible.”

“If there is nothing else,” Xander interjected. “Then I’ll dismiss this meeting for now. Hopefully, we will convene again before—”

They were interrupted by a sharp knock on the double doors; one of Josephine’s messengers and one of the Soldiers were waiting outside. They both looked a bit frazzled. 

“Your worship,” the soldier said breathlessly “There is an altercation between Seeker Pentaghast and Varric in the courtyard.”

“Oh, Maker’s Breath,” Xander grumbled. “I’m assuming word got back to Cassandra that Hawke was here.”

“I’ve got it, Xander,” Emma replied before sweeping out the door with the soldier. 

“And Lady Montilyet,” the messenger interjected softly. “My apologies, but one of our attaches sent this urgent message.”

Josephine took the parchment with an arched brow; Xander recognized Starkhaven’s heraldry on the seal. The ambassador looked over the note before paling three or four shades; “Oh, my. Oh dear. We don’t… I can’t… I need to speak to my seamstress! _And_ the serving staff! We’re not _ready!_ ”

Josephine fluttered out of the room, muttering nervously under her breath. Leliana giggled; “Considering we have lost our ambassador for the day, I assume you were adjourning our meeting?”

“Yes,” Xander answered in a clipped tone. “You’re all dismissed.”

Leliana, Alyx and Iris filed from the room without hesitation. Cullen, however, lingered behind. He placed a small bottle with an ominously-dark liquid inside next to Xander’s hand. 

“What’s this?” Xander asked. 

“Headache potion,” Cullen said softly. “You’ve been nursing a fierce once since you began the ceremony. This is a particularly effective treatment.”

Xander gave a grateful stare to his Commander; “Thank you, Cullen. But how did you—”

“I will explain later,” Cullen interjected. “I should make sure the lady Seeker doesn’t throttle our new Battlemaster.”

“That might be wise,” Xander replied. “Thank you, again.”

He downed the potion gratefully, feeling its effects take hold almost right away. He had a feeling he would need to get the recipe—or at least who supplied it—out of Cullen. Something told him the little mixture he’d just drank was going to be invaluable in the coming days. 


	19. Chapter 19

“You had sealed it with a gesture,” Solas intoned. “And right then, I felt the whole world change.”

Xander let the snowflakes brush against his cheekbones, the familiar scent of straw and burning coal soothing him and calming his senses. Haven was _familiar_ , and he couldn’t be happier to be back. Why had he left again? He scuffed his boots—fine boots, made of polished, sleek leather—against the lightly-piled snow. The cool breeze brushed against his cheekbones, and even the Breach could do nothing to sour his mood.

“For all our sakes, I’m pleased you stuck around,” Xander replied. He felt lighter than he’d felt in weeks. Maybe he would find Iris later. As much as she loved the horses, she was still so nervous on horseback; maybe he could take her riding.

“As am I,” Solas said, striding into Xander’s field of vision. “It’s fascinating; you’re not even a Mage, and yet you visit me _here_. You have fractured the rules of man and nature; and you will shatter more before you are done.”

_Here? Wait, what?_

“What do you mean?” Xander asked, turning his gaze away from the Breach. “Solas, what did you—”

“Where did you think we were?” Solas countered with an amused smirk.

“This isn’t real,” Xander said, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out. He suddenly felt a distinct sensation of unreality—his limbs felt too light, and his vision was too sharp.

“That’s a matter for debate,” Solas answered easily, like he _wasn’t_ turning Xander’s reality upside down. “Probably best discussed after you _wake up._ ”

Xander usually loved his bed—an Orlesian number with a mountain of pillows and a soft mattress large enough for him to stretch out completely. Now, though, it was unnerving. He went from the crisp mountain air of a dead village to the too-warm confines of his chamber. His mattress was suddenly _too soft_ and he could no longer sit still. He levered off the bed, scrubbing his hand through his hair, and proceeded to nearly trip over his rucksack. He sighed heavily—it was the day he was leaving for Crestwood, and it couldn’t have come any sooner. Fiona had been on his case since Alexius had come into her care, and apparently, the Templars couldn’t agree on what to do with Denam and were complaining to poor Cullen. It was a disaster.

He decided a quick walk around Skyhold to finalize his team would be prudent—he knew Varric would want in, but beyond that, he was at a loss. He was sending Bull up the Storm Coast for the Red Lyrium run, so he was out, and Emma and Iris needed to stay in Skyhold to establish their new positions. He thought Blackwall might be a good fit, considering all the Warden business. He tugged on a linen shirt he was sure Josephine would vehemently disapprove of before stomping into a pair of comfortable boots, trying to shake the odd feeling.

_I was in the Fade..._

Despite the early hour, Skyhold was already bustling. He was under the impression that Varric slept well past sun-up, but he was already lounging by his fireplace with a parchment across his lap and a pair of delicate, gold spectacles perched on his nose. Xander snorted under his breath—Varric would be mortified if he knew Xander had seen—so he feigned ignorance as he approached the dwarf.

“Inquisitor,” Varric greeted smoothly, surreptitiously tucking the spectacles into a hidden pocket. “What can I do for you?”

“Varric, you know how much I hate my title,” Xander sighed, slumping into the tall-backed chair opposite Varric’s. “Everyone else has a nickname. Why not me?”

“Seems disrespectful,” Varric answered. Xander crossed his arms petulantly while Varric tried to (poorly) conceal a chuckle in his elbow. “Fine. I’ve been sitting on a good one, anyway… Marshmallow.”

“Wait, what?” Xander asked, quirking a brow. _Of all the—_

“Marshmallow,” Varric answered with a shrug. “I don’t give explanations behind the names; I just issue them. I’m sure you’ll understand it in time.”

Xander rolled his eyes; “Well, I did ask for it. Which brings me to the _actual_ reason I came to see you. I was wondering if you wanted to go to Crestwood with me to meet… my contact.”

It was Varric’s turn to quirk his brow; “And what made you think you had to give me _permission_?”

“Hence why I’m asking,” Xander quipped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Show of good faith.”

“While I appreciate the gesture I find them to be unnecessary,” Varric answered with a handwave. “There are plenty of ways to show good faith. You stopping Cassandra from taking my head off the other day was definitely a step in that direction.”

“Sorry I didn’t stop Alyx from shocking you, though,” Xander chuckled. “She was… _helping._ ”

“Just like your sister was with her fireballs,” Varric said with a protective hand over his chest hair. “She is really good at aiming those. Speaking of, she’s just in there with Chuckles if you were looking for her.”

Xander’s eyes widened in a way he _knew_ Varric noticed. He wanted to have a conversation with Solas about this impromptu trip to the Fade—he was both unnerved and fascinated by the experience—but it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with Iris. While he found himself baffled that he had one more thing to share with her (she often spoke of her times in the Fade) he knew her aching curiosity would be too much to deal with at the moment.

“Thanks,” Xander grumbled under his breath, hoping his sudden grouchiness could be chalked-up to not yet having breakfast. “So see you after lunch to begin our little expedition?”

“Count on it, Marshmallow,” Varric answered, returning to his work.

“I’m going to regret asking for a nickname, aren’t I?” Xander groaned around a smirk.

“You _did_ ask for it,” Varric reiterated. “See you later.”

Xander looked towards the doorway that opened to the rotunda. He could hear Iris and Solas’s muffled voices coming out from it. He wasn’t sure what they were discussing, but they were enthusiastic and… loud. He wondered if he could eavesdrop without them noticing—the space Solas had claimed was a bit tight for sneaking through.

Varric gave him an arch, knowing look; “You know there’s this great walkway that overlooks the rotunda on the second floor. You can’t always hear what’s being said, but it’s great for people watching.”

Xander followed Varric’s gesture, climbing the stairs to the balcony and nodding at Vivienne as he passed. He knew that balcony had a little secreted doorway that led to the aforementioned walkway; the Library was quiet and wouldn’t have many people at this hour.

~~~

Dorian normally wasn’t normally an early riser, but it seemed all of the denizens of Skyhold were up and about early that day. He had every reason to believe it was the imminent departure of the Inquisitor. So he took his breakfast of _very_ strong black tea in his little nook in the library. It had a window that overlooked the battlements and the courtyard; he was surrounded by books so old they had that special _smell_ , and he was out of everyone’s way. It had quickly become his favorite part of the castle… especially when he saw the Inquisitor glide across the grass with those sure, deceptively graceful steps.

Maker preserve him, but that man was _big._ Dorian was not a small man, and he felt positively dwarfed by the Inquisitor. He was always so stealthy, though—not quite an assassin in the night, but definitely not the clomping clod that was the stereotype. And he was _beautiful_. That much, everyone was beginning to notice.

Dorian was started out of his reverie by someone coming through the door—likely it was Fiona or that Tranquil researcher reporting for their morning duties. He shuddered—he really didn’t want that Tranquil girl (he _really_ ought to have learned her name—she _had_ a name) to say her cool, detatched “good mornings” to him. It set his teeth on edge and made his skin crawl. He didn’t look forward to having the ‘what do you think of Tranquil Mages’ conversation with the Inquisitor. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out his opinion on the matter.

Thankfully, it seemed the researcher and the former Grand Enchanter were still in bed, like sane individuals, because the heavy boots across the worn wood couldn’t possibly be one of those petite women. Sure enough, the Inquisitor— _Xander_ —was walking towards his little spot. He kept his back turned; Dorian admired the long, lean line from his broad shoulders to his slim waist and his _perfect_ arse, but he couldn’t look at that for very long. He couldn’t play that off if he was caught. Xander leaned casually on the wooden railing, gazing down into the rotunda below. He was probably listening to Solas and Iris carry on. Dorian had long ago tuned them out, and instead took keen notice of the clothing Xander had selected. He somehow made those simple, linen shirts he favored _work_ for him, and the sturdy breeches spoke of practicality.

_He is most definitely leaving today._

He’d been staring for too long, and if he looked much longer, it would be harder to be casual about the encounter, so he reached for his favorite social shield; “You know, I had wondered if you were ever going to come by and at least see how I have settled in. I suppose saving your life and bringing you forward in time isn’t quite as special as I had thought.”

Xander jumped. He honestly _jumped_ , the precious man. He grinned at Dorian sheepishly, like _he_ had been the one admiring from afar; “Forgive me. My manners have been slightly remiss since my appointment as Inquisitor. What would _Josephine_ think?”

“Personally, I think having an Archdemon try to crush you like an ant would sour anyone,” Dorian replied. “I’m sure even Josephine could understand that.”

“Well, then, how _are_ you settling in?” Xander asked with that _perfect_ smile. Dorian imagined those full lips _elsewhere,_ doing _other_ things, and he yanked himself back to reality.

_Bad Dorian. Inquisitor. Off-limits._

“I’m not quite the pariah I thought I would be here. Though I do still check my food carefully; the cook tends to glare at me whenever I come down to the kitchens.”

Xander scowled; “I’ll talk to him. He really shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t trouble yourself for me Inquisitor; I knew what I was getting into when I chose to ally myself with you. My country, my home...I know the stories they tell. Wild tales of blood magic and sacrifice, flying cows over Minrathous. Well the last part is true, but they didn't have wings.”

Xander chuckled with a roll of those green ( _so green)_ eyes; “You must miss Tevinter; but I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have you here.”

Dorian felt something _dangerous_ twist in his chest; this time he couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering to those hands. Those big, warrior’s hands with the small callus on the thumb. They were rough, but strong, and Dorian remembered the sensation of them on his skin like a brand. He _badly_ wanted to feel it again; to watch that gaze flit down to the bare expanse of skin on his shoulder with something Dorian chose to believe was _want._ But he was delusional, and he remembered the problems confessions brought back home—so he locked those emotions in a drawer, never to be seen again.

“This Corypheus, he wants to bring back an empire that doesn’t exist,” Dorian explained with a shrug. “And if what you say is true, then it really was us. We destroyed the world, we caused the Blights, I almost believed everything they told me growing up. They would say the Darkspawn were always there and Tevinter ended up blamed through Chantry rhetoric. Maker knows no one wants to admit they shit the bed.”

Xander gave an inelegant snort; Dorian couldn’t help but smile; “What a… colorful way to put our modern religious history. Still, having good reasons doesn’t cancel out my gratitude.”

Dorian laughed under his breath, allowing himself to slide in next to Xander; he could be forgiven for allowing their arms to touch… just for a bit; “No one will thank me, you know. No one will thank you, either.”

“We don’t know what people will think,” Xander countered. “Not yet.”

At this, Dorian had to laugh; “An _optimist!_ Such a rare breed. I’ve stumbled upon a Unicorn!”

Xander rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back on his little sister; he stared at her with such honest, open affection. The boy wouldn’t last ten heartbeats in the Imperium. For a moment, Dorian imagined that gaze turned on _him,_ and suddenly his stomach felt like rather overlarge and overexcited butterflies had taken up residence.

“I take it by your sturdy attire, you’re heading to Crestwood today?” Dorian offered, trying to pull his mind out of that dangerous drawer he’d only _just a few seconds ago_ closed. For good.

“Oh,” Xander squeaked. He looked down at his shirt like he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “Yes. In a few hours. I was hoping to ask Iris or Solas, but…” “Don’t want to get caught in the middle of that?” Dorian asked, gesturing vaguely at their very _animated_ conversation.

“Maker, no,” Xander answered. “I love my sister, but sometimes I feel like she carries on conversations in Rivaini, and I’m left in the dust.”

He was being flippant, but Dorian recognized the tightness in his eyes. It was something that bothered him—that barrier of experience between him and Iris—and he so badly wanted to bridge the gap.

“Trying to make yourself understand what it’s like to be a Mage will get you nowhere with her,” Dorian offered. “It would be like her trying to lift that monstrous sword of yours. And spending all your energy trying to make up for lost time does you no credit. She adores you; trust me. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have tried to turn the Commander into a pile of ash when she thought you were dead.”

“I know,” Xander muttered, his voice smaller than Dorian was used to. “I know, I just... “ He raked his hand through his hair, frowning in distaste when his fingers got tangled. He shook the digits free, and he rather looked a mess. Dorian resisted the urge to reach out and fix the curls before Xander’s scrutinizing stare stopped him in his tracks; “What did you do that she was so quick to just follow you to Haven? It took us weeks and me nearly dying for her to actually tell me she cared about me.”

Dorian smirked; “She’ll say it had something to do with our mutual affinity for our chosen elements, but something tells me she’s gone a long time being underestimated. To the point where she does it to herself. I refused to, and I think she gravitated towards it. Or perhaps, she was trying to fill a Xander-shaped hole she didn’t realize was there. It wouldn’t work, though. I’m much too small for that.”

Dorian may have imagined the flush that darkened the tops of the Inquisitor’s beautiful cheekbones, but he most certainly did _not_ imagine the definitive stoop in his posture. His shoulders rolled forward and he sank a little lower, actively trying to appear smaller. Dorian resisted the urge to rap him on the knuckles—how dare he try to minimize that _body_?

“Don’t you two just make the cutest couple up there, gossiping like a pair of fish wives,” Iris called up from the rotunda. Dorian couldn’t see her expression well, but her posture reeked of ‘sass’, and he wouldn’t have any of it.

“Iris, please,” Xander pleaded, blushing darker and actively putting space between them. Dorian would _not_ admit that it stung. He _wouldn’t_.

“You’re having lunch with me before you go, right?” Iris bowled over his plea. “I found this great book about Wyverns in the area of Ferelden you’re going to be in. There’s apparently one that spits poison. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

“Tell you what,” Xander quipped. “I’ll bring you it’s liver and whatever armor I’ll have to throw away when I encounter it. Then you can tell me how amazing it is.”

“Dorian, smack my brother in the back of the head, will you? He hasn’t remembered his manners and our terrible mother isn’t here to remind him.”

Dorian couldn’t help it; their antics were infinitely amusing. He couldn’t control the giggles that threatened to burst out of his chest; “Is there a reason you’re so worried about the Crestwood trip? I’ve seen you take things down that could make a Wyvern never want to leave its nest.”

Before Xander could answer, Alyx came striding into the rotunda. She followed Iris’s gaze and grinned a bit too widely when she saw her cousin; “Xander! I’m bored.”

“How is that my problem, Alyx?” Xander asked flippantly.

“I’m bored,” she reiterated. “And I’m coming to Crestwood with you.”

Xander sighed; “Would it help if I said no?”

“Nope!” Alyx replied.

“See, this is why I read,” Iris interjected.

“Alright, be ready to leave within a few hours,” Xander called. “We leave after lunch, with or without you!”

Alyx shot them both a mock salute before sauntering out of the rotunda. _Charming as always, Alyx._

Xander heaved a great sigh; “While we’re on the subject, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind accompanying us? I can’t say it’s going to be _fun_ , but it should be interesting.”

“I’m beginning to realize that everything in my life became infinitely more interesting the day I met you,” Dorian replied, _hating_ how familiar and affectionate it sounded.

Xander laughed warmly; “So is that a yes, Dorian?”

“Oh I suppose,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve made it sound so _fascinating,_ with its poison-spitting Wyverns and a mystery contact. Such intrigue.”

“Well, then, dress warmly and pack an extra set of socks,” Xander quipped, stretching hugely. Dorian swallowed when his shirt rode up enough to show the flat planes of his stomach, the muscles rippling beautifully beneath ruddy skin. _Fuck_. “And same thing I told Alyx—be at the stables after lunch, or we leave without you.”

Dorian swallowed thickly, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetically affected as he was; “And miss the chance for trekking through endless Fereldan rains? Perish the thought.”

Xander laughed as he strode away; Dorian would give every sovereign in the Pavus vaults to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life.

~~~

Xander left with his little entourage in the early afternoon. Iris and Emma saw them off before returning to their duties. Iris had to prepare for a very special guest arriving later that day; Xander had wanted to wait, but the expedition to Crestwood could not be delayed further. Poor Josephine was in a panic, and despite working miracles on Iris’s wardrobe _and_ putting the Keep mostly to rights, it was apparently not enough. Iris smoothed the front of the rich, red brocade Josephine had fitted her for. It still amazed her what she managed to accomplish, but hyperventilation was less than helpful.

“Josephine, please breathe,” Iris pleaded. “You are making me even _more_ nervous than I already was.”

“My apologies, Iris,” Josephine gasped, pressing her hand against her chest. “It’s just… Maker’s Breath, Prince Sebastian is one of our staunchest allies. He has defended the Inquisition in Starkhaven, has sent aid to Kirkwall on our behalf… and Skyhold is still a _disaster_. He wasn’t supposed to arrive for _weeks._ ”

“Maybe it’s better he sees it how it is now,” Iris soothed. “He will see how much work is already underway. I’ll be sure to point out all the efforts you have tirelessly put into it.”

“Thank you for this, Iris,” Josephine sighed. “Again. The Prince should be arriving any moment. Are you sure you’re ready for this? I can assign you to one of our Orlesian visitors or—”

Iris held up a hand at the very mention of Orlesians; “Unless you want them taking off in a huff after I’ve laughed at their accents for the umpteenth time, then no. I will handle the Prince. Besides, you have done an amazing job at teaching me thus far. I can do this.”

“If you’re sure,” Josephine said softly. She jumped nearly a foot out of her seat when she heard the massive horn that signalled a visitor coming up the path to Skyhold. “Andraste preserve me, that’s _him._ ”

“Well, remind me again,” Iris quipped with mischief in her eyes. “I’m supposed to hug visiting dignitaries, right?”

Josephine paled by at least three shades before she scowled; “Oh, very funny. Go greet the Prince before I assign you to greeting the noble _mounts_.”

Iris mimicked the whicker of a horse before turning sharply on her heel, giggling the entire time. She had to get her laughter out before she met with the Prince. She had accepted the job of course—anything was better than speaking to _Orlesians_. But she was apprehensive. She hadn't lied when she told Josephine she was ready, but she was ready to meet dignitaries, minor nobility. A prince? That was something she hadn't been expecting. She reminded herself that she had already met the King and Queen of Ferelden and hadn’t made an ass of herself then. And that was while Xander had been covered in all manner of filth and blood. _Breathe, read, watch and listen._

Waiting patiently in the courtyard with that same air of polite stoicism Josephine exuded no matter the circumstance was harder than it looked, it seemed. The urge to fidget was almost unbearable, and it seemed an eternity before the sounds of the drawbridge being lowered echoed throughout the Keep. Most were so used to it, they scarcely looked up from what they were doing, but the giant chains felt like they were drawing her insides tight.

She thought she knew what a royal retinue looked like—King Alistair and Queen Lynn had brought a whole contingent of Fereldan soldiers to Redcliffe, plus she assumed guards and grooms and lady’s maids. It seemed Sebastian travelled light… that, or he’d slipped most of his entourage. Four riders approached Skyhold—a hooded man on a magnificent blood bay stallion, two heavily armed guards flanking him, and a younger boy riding on a pony behind. It seemed an oddly small party for such an important guest, but all the better she had fewer people to deal with.

The rider pulled up before her, dismounting smoothly, and tossing the hood of his dark green cloak from his hair. And, oh, didn’t he look every inch a Prince. Exactly like one would find in a fairy tale—golden brown skin, combed back auburn hair and bright blue eyes with just the hint of smile lines around the edges. Even his practical travelling leathers looked regal: deep forest green trimmed with gold, the hood of his cloak lined with silver vair.

The Prince quirked his brow, his lips drawn up in a sardonic smile; “ _You’re_ Lady Montilyet? I didn’t realize the ambassador would be so… young.”

Iris bit back a chuckle and tilted her head respectfully. “Your Highness, I am Lady Iris Trevelyan, Envoy to the Inquisition. I assist Lady Montilyet in matters of diplomacy when she is otherwise occupied. She extends her sincerest apologies for not meeting you herself.”

“Please, I don’t mind,” the Prince replied with a grin. “And Sebastian will do—Maker, I’m still not used to the Your Highnesses, to be honest.”

“To be honest your...Sebastian, I am not used to be referred to as Lady either,” Iris said. “We are asked to give up our titles when we enter the Circle. But the Inquisitor saw fit that I be titled as such given my status within the Inquisition. ‘Iris’ will be more than fine for me as well, if it pleases you.”

“That sounds fair,” Sebastian replied. “This is Corwin and Kinnon, my guards, and this lad is my page and groom, Garrett. Would it be possible to get them settled while we get better acquainted?”

“Of course,” Iris replied. With a wave of her hands, grooms and servants descended on the party, showing the guards to their quarters and bringing the horses to the stables. Sebastian took his pack and a fine, if simple, recurve bow from the saddle before sending the stallion off.

“So tell me, Iris,” he began, falling into step next to her. “If you don’t mind my asking, how _did_ a Circle Mage end up as the Inquisition’s Envoy?”

Iris bit her lip only for a moment before remembering what Josephine said to her…

_Try not to bite your lip before speaking; I know it's a nervous habit, but it's one you need to work on stopping. People_ will _question how a Mage ended up with such a high position. Keep your explanation simple. There will be those who press and you will have to deal with them. Your relationship to the Inquisitor must not come up. The fact that you are his sister will only lend to rumors of favoritism. I and everyone within the Inquisition know that you earned your position, but others will not. Most will use this information as an opportunity to discredit you, discredit the Inquisitor, and the of course the Inquisition itself._

“The Inquisitor felt that having the perspective of a Mage might be beneficial to those who wish to lend support to the Inquisition. We are truly the only ones who can properly express what it meant to live within the Circle, and all that entails,” Iris explained with careful precision; she’d rehearsed this speech many times. “If we are to bring balance and peace to Thedas, is it not prudent to see things from all sides? To show that Mages are indeed people?”

Sebastian quirked his brow like he didn’t _quite_ believe her, but but shrugged in a deceptively nonchalant way; “It’s just odd. I could have sworn I knew a Lord Trevelyan from Ostwick—his wife claimed their son was Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste—and I was under the impression that they had a daughter named Iris. My mistake.”

Iris paled and stammered for a moment; she was not expecting that. The Trevelyans were a large family. Her father was only the second son, no one special, and yet Sebastian knew of him, and apparently of her.

“I am indeed Iris Trevelyan of Ostwick, Your Highness,” she added, hoping the tone of her voice conveyed aloof politeness. “But I gave up that title long ago, and now I only serve in an official capacity.”

“So it is true—the Inquisitor is your brother?” Sebastian tilted his head towards her in askance.

“Yes, he is.” Josephine was going to kill her. First time meeting an important ally and she’d already broken every rule that had been set for her. Well, except the hugging.

“Wonderful,” Sebastian answered, turning towards the stairs that led to the upper courtyard. “Now, this Keep of yours. It is magnificent.”

Iris felt her chest drop and immediately regretted her slouch. The brocade was never meant to fold and she could feel it press into her stomach. She straightened herself and took a deep breath while Sebastian surveyed his surroundings. _Think Iris, think. Breathe, read, watch and listen._

“It truly is,” she assented. “Our masons aren’t even sure how old it is, or how many hands it has passed through. There is evidence of Elven and Dwarven work throughout.”

“It dwarfs anything in Starkhaven,” Sebastian turned to her with a grin. “Or Kirkwall, for that matter. I should very much like to see the rest of it.”

“Allow me to escort you then,” Iris offered, indicating he proceed. “We can discuss your thoughts on the Inquisition and the work we are doing.”

Sebastian let his eyes flit around the Keep, taking in just about everything. He stared with an ominous impassivity that Iris wasn’t sure was good or bad—she suddenly knew why Josephine always carried that damn writing board, even when she didn’t have anything on it. Iris was at a loss as to what to do with her hands. She clasped them tightly behind her and did her best not to fidget.

“So,” Sebastian offered. “When will I get to meet this fabled Herald of Andraste?”

“The Inquisitor,” Iris corrected, though it set her teeth on edge to call him that. “Is currently en route to Crestwood. He has urgent matters to attend to in regards to possible undue influence over the Grey Wardens by Corypheus.”

A muscle jumped in Sebastian’s jaw at the mention of their monstrous enemy, and he simply schooled his expression into a facsimile of cool indifference. But something had changed. Iris thanked her lucky stars that she had read Varric’s book before the Prince’s arrival. Though Varric’s account of Sebastian had not been the most flattering, it had given her an idea of what to expect.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this Inquisitor,” Sebastian said through slightly-clenched teeth. “I have some… things I’d like to discuss with him.”

“Will you be staying at Skyhold, then?” Iris asked, knowing his answer would set Josephine into another frenzy. “We can make the necessary accommodations of course.”

“My Lady,” he intoned. “If the Inquisition will have me, I would very much like to stay on a long-term basis. I trust my steward, and your cause is… an important one.”

“My brother will be pleased to hear that,” Iris replied brightly. “I will be more than happy to arrange a meeting with him when makes his return.”

“I look forward to it, Iris,” he answered, with a touch of emphasis on her name. “So tell me more about your Inquisition. Skyhold. How you came to be here. I’d love to hear everything you have to offer—I’m sure when I run into my friends, they will be as delightfully enigmatic as they’ve always been.”

“Ah yes, you know Varric of course; he is with the Inquisitor. Shall I tell you of the escape from Haven? I may not be the storyteller that he is, but I have read enough literature to know how to tell a tale.”

Sebastian laughed as they mounted the stairs, and he opened his mouth to answer, but his attention was drawn to the other side of the courtyard. Whoever was in the sparring ring had drawn quite an audience, and he was showing a _keen_ interest in the goings on of the altercation. Iris maneuvered them towards the center of the courtyard. If a sparring match was what would hold his attention, then she would lead him right to it. Perhaps Josephine might not have to kill her after all.

“Mages!” Iris heard Emma call. “See how he angles the shield down? That’s to direct fire and acid away from the face—any man and woman trained with Templar techniques will do the same!”

_Oh good,_ Iris thought to herself, _Emma was at it._ It would be good for Sebastian to see her at work. Though Iris still felt unsure around her Templar-trained cousin, she knew that seeing a Mage working with Mages and Templars alike would highlight the _unity_ the Inquisition was trying to bring. She idly wondered who Emma was sparring with.

“Alright Commander, show me what you got!” Emma jibed. Iris nearly choked when she got a good look at their Battlemaster—her hair in a sloppy tail, her breasts bound with a strip of cloth, wearing loose-fitting pants with comfortable boots and not a stitch more.

“Templars,” a chillingly familiar voice called out. “Observe how you can sense the gathering of mana moments before it happens. With practice you’ll be able to sense the type of spell.”

Cullen lunged forward, a practice sword and shield drawn up to the ready. He was… similarly disrobed as Emma. She shot a handful of harmless snow at the Commander, which he angled downward and swept in from the side. Emma danced out of his reach, swinging her own practice sword. The Commander parried her blow easily, but she did come up behind the shield with yet another handful of snow.

“Commander,” she chastised playfully. “There’s a shield in your hand; block with it!”

Cullen shook his head and yanked on her arm, rapping her on the side with his practice sword. She yelped, and a vivid bruise colored her skin; “Maybe you should have had your barrier up, then. Constant vigilance, Battlemaster.”

The skirmish carried on for a while, the soldiers betting and and cheering for their favorite. The fight held Sebastian’s rapt attention. Iris, on the other hand, was horrified. How in the _world_ was she supposed to continue keeping an air of dignity while Cullen was in front of her, shirtless, dirty and sweating. She had been avoiding him; not exactly on purpose, but not without intention either. She had a crush—she was more than willing to admit that to herself. A crush she knew she had absolutely no business in indulging. Cullen was the Commander of the Inquisition; one of her brother’s trusted advisors. Besides that, his former profession was what forced her to keep him at a distance. Life in the Circle had taught her to never give in to the idea of a relationship, and especially not with a Templar. When she realized Sebastian was still raptly attentive on the fight, she straightened her shoulders and gave a few modest cheers for Emma as she successfully countered and dodged the Commander’s attacks.

It was going well, despite the level of undress (Emma’s modesty was threatened with every stray twist of her torso, but she stayed in, thank the Maker), until of course, one of the soldiers spotted Iris. She widened her eyes and tried jerking her head in a sideways ‘no’ motion. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work.

“Hey!” The soldier shouted. “It’s the little Mage who wanted to roast the Commander!”

“Get in the ring!” Another one shouted. “Show em how it’s done!”

“Are they referring to you?” Sebastian asked with a wry grin.

“I’m afraid so. Really there is a perfectly reasonable explanation behind it.” _There won’t be a reasonable explanation for me demanding that soldier’s head on a pike for this!_

“I’m sure,” Sebastian replied. His voice was sincere, but his demeanor _reeked_ of sarcasm.

“Come on Firefly, show em what you’ve got!” One of the Chargers yelled out from behind the crowd.

“I’m wearing brocade!” She shouted as if it explained all. Iris rolled her eyes at the merc.

Cullen had stopped his attack, his gaze turned towards her. He gave a shy smile and a short wave, his eyes settling on Sebastian. Unfortunately, it seemed Emma was in the mood to fight dirty that day.

“Shouldn’t take your eyes off me, Commander!” She exclaimed before tackling him fully around the middle; they went down in a tangle of limbs. They rolled and grappled for a moment before Emma got her elbow hooked around his neck. “Do you yield, Ser?”

Cullen fought her grip, but despite his superior size, strength and training, Emma had leverage. He pounded the ground with his fist in rapid succession, admitting his defeat. Iris cheered with the rest of the crowd who’d been favoring their Battlemaster to win. The crowd broke off into smaller groups, and Cullen moved to oversee the next match, but Sebastian’s attention was still fixed on Emma. She couldn’t help but notice the previously-absent flush across his cheeks, or the way his breath caught when her cousin stretched out the kinks in her muscles. His eyes widened when she emptied a small bucket of water over her head.

“Would you care to meet the victor of the bout?” Iris asked with a cat-like smirk, gesturing to the ring.

Sebastian swallowed hard and nodded wordlessly, his stare locked on the Knight Enchanter. Emma threw a towel around her shoulders and shook out her damp ponytail. She looked up as Iris and Sebastian approached and grinned widely, waving them over.

“Your Highness, allow me to introduce you to Lady Emma Trevelyan of Ostwick, Knight Enchanter, and Battlemaster of the Inquisition. His Highness Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven.” Iris declared—another heavily rehearsed speech.

“Oh,” Emma replied in a small voice, dropping to a sloppy curtsey. “Forgive me your Highness. I don’t usually greet visiting royalty in… well, my smalls, really. This is embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Sebastian countered, giving a short, polite bow. “That was quite the bout. Your combat skills are remarkable, though I’m not familiar with your titles; Knight Enchanter? Battlemaster?”

“Emma was trained along side Templars; she has all their skills as well as her magic. Her talents are well suited here,” Iris explained.

“As for Battlemaster,” Emma interjected. “It’s a fancy name for ‘I get mages combat-ready’. It’s not a glamorous job, if the bruised ribs and mud in my hair is any indicator.”

“The Commander requested her for the position himself and the Inquisitor was more than happy to promote her,” Iris continued.

“So many high-ranking Trevelyans,” Sebastian quipped, a full laugh sending a pink flush all the way across Emma’s chest and cheeks. Iris was sure it had absolutely nothing to do with exertion. “Well, I would very much like to hear more about this, Lady Emma.”

“Oh, I’d love to you brief you on the combat situation here at Skyhold, your Highness,” Emma offered, shooting a crisp salute. “Though, hopefully, when I am better attired for such a meeting? And I prefer just Emma, if that’s okay.”

“Seems every Trevelyan I meet prefers to be known by only one name. Are there more of you?” Sebastian jibed.

“Well, you just missed Alyx and Xander,” Emma quipped, swiping the sweat out of her eyes. “Those are the last ones we know of.”

“We were preparing to walk the battlements when the bout caught his attention,” Iris interjected. “Your Highness, shall we move onto the Keep so my cousin can make herself decent? Lady Montilyet may be available to speak with you once we arrive.”

“Of course. My apologies,” Sebastian offered, bowing slightly at the waist. “May we meet again, Emma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to fawx who came up with 'Marshmallow' for Xander's nickname :D


	20. Chapter 20

“Have I mentioned how charming and _novel_ I find this endless rain?” Dorian griped. Again. 

Xander chuckled under his breath, but his good spirits were going cold faster than his feet in his wet boots. They’d left the horses at the last camp for their safety—the rain made the rocky and uneven terrain rather treacherous for them—and now they picked their way over muddy grass and slippery shale to the smugglers’ cave Hawke had labeled on their map. On top of that, Crestwood was under attack by bandits and undead; Grey Wardens were patrolling the roads surrounding the village; oh, and a giant rift had opened under the lake. It was easily the largest he’d seen since the Breach, and he had no idea if he could close it properly. 

“Several times, Sparkler,” Varric grumbled. His normally-upbeat spirits seemed to have dimmed in the torrential downpour. Poor Bianca didn’t much care for the rain either, if the groaning and clicking from her cocking ring and firing arms was any indicator. “We’re all miserable; you don’t hear us complaining about it?”

“Not much we can do about it,” Alyx grumbled. She didn’t seem to mind the rain—as a matter of fact, she’d been downright elated the first night it started coming down. But after three days, the novelty seemed to have worn off, and she was even quieter and more sullen than ever.

“Agreed,” Xander ascented. “We’re almost to the cave; I’m sure Hawke will let us get dry before she informs us of certain doom.”

“You _really_ are quite the optimist,” Dorian remarked. Despite the levity in his tone, he looked a bit like a wet cat—grumpy, limp, and defeated. “I look forward to our return to Skyhold. Why did I agree to this again?”

“Greater good? A chance to meet the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall? Couldn’t stand a day apart from our dear Inquisitor?” Alyx quipped, tossing her sodden hair out of her face. 

Xander felt the back of his neck heat at the idea, but Dorian’s derisive scoff threw a bucket of cold water on that idea; “Oh, my dear Alyx, if only I had the affinity for lightning that you have. You wouldn’t be laughing quite so hard.”

“You _wish_ you were as good as me,” Alyx retorted. She stuck out her chin and planted her fists on her hips. 

Xander was about to join in their good-natured ribbing when he caught a flash of movement ahead. A figure was pacing outside of the entrance of a cave. It was a smaller figure, most likely a woman, and Xander tossed out his arm for silence. Almost immediately, the squabbling ceased, and Xander prepared to reach for his weapon. They’d already run into Venatori. 

“Hey, relax, Marshmallow,” Varric quipped, his voice lighter than it had been since they parted ways with the Chargers the previous day. “I think it’s Hawke.”

Xander straightened, ignoring Alyx and Dorian’s inelegant snorts of laughter. Oh, he was definitely going to regret ‘Marshmallow.’ But Varric’s hunch about the figure seemed to be correct; the easy posture and the good natured wave she sent was _absolutely_ Hawke. 

“You’re here,” Hawke said brightly. She tossed at her long braid, soaked through almost completely. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show; I honestly can’t remember being this soggy.”

“I can think of a few times,” Varric interjected. 

“Yes, but I try to forget about those times,” Hawke countered. “It’s this hair, I tell you. Let Andraste be my witness, but I will never let it get this long again!”

“Where’s the broody one?” Varric asked, scanning the immediate vicinity and cutting of Hawke’s tirade. “I expected him to be with you.”

“Oh, he’s here,” Hawke replied, pointing up the cliff face. 

Xander followed her gaze, and if he looked closely, he could see the elf crouched in the shadows. His tattoos flashed briefly (Xander would have to ask how he did that) before he slunk back into the shadows. 

“I’ve never seen a warrior trained for stealth like that,” Xander remarked. 

“Well,” Hawke answered, shrugging easily. “When you’re friends with a pirate, you tend to pick up a few things. Only thing is _he_ picked up useful things, and _I_ only seemed to pick up grotesquely inappropriate limericks.”

Alyx snorted behind her hand and Varric chuckled to himself. 

“Seems useful enough to me,” Alyx quipped. “Care to share any?”

“Another time, maybe.” Hawke’s demeanor changed drastically as she turned towards the cave entrance—Xander would have to ask Varric if that was normal. 

“I take it your friend is waiting for us?” Xander asked around a very put upon sigh. 

“Even if they weren’t, can we go in anyway?” Dorian input. “I would like to get out of this horrific damp, if you don’t mind.”

Xander rolled his eyes, traipsing into the cave; he had to duck his head slightly to fit, which was unfortunate, and it wasn’t much warmer in the cave than it was outside, which was a disappointment. But it was dryer, and for that, Xander was grateful. He also heard the merry popping of a campfire and his bones ached with the very thought of its warmth. 

He cautiously pushed on a wooden gate painted with a blinded skull; the chamber that greeted him could charitably described as gloomy. If not for the fire, it would have been unbearably cold, and the only source of open air was a small vent in the ceiling to let the smoke out. Abandoned crates—likely filled with all manner of unmentionables— were stacked against the walls. What unnerved him most, though, were the shadows. It was too dark for comfort, and any manner of nasty creatures could be hiding in the dim. 

No sooner had Xander stepped into the room proper than he felt the sharp tips of wickedly pointed daggers pressing into his back, right over his kidneys. He froze, calculating how much time he had to reach his weapon before the blades plunged into his skin. 

“Who are you,” a husky, accented voice asked harshly. _Antivan_? “What do you want? _Speak quickly._ ”

“Stand down, Zevran,” Hawke chided playfully, and the utter _lack_ of alarm in her voice put Xander instantly at ease. “It’s just us—I brought the Inquisitor. Xander Trevelyan, the man with a knife at your back is—”

“Zevran Arainai, at your service,” the man finished, stepping out around Xander, coming into the full light. He was slim—an elf, he noted—and to call him handsome would be an understatement. He was shining and golden, from the top of his long, blonde hair over the curves of his chiseled face and impossibly straight nose to the tips of his distinctly Antivan, worn leather boots. He grinned at the befuddled party, crinkling the corners of his eyes with smile lines. He returned his daggers to their sheaths with a dexterous flourish. “I apologize for the terribly rude greeting, but one can’t be too careful in these tumultuous times.”

“Oh, I like him,” Alyx chuckled under her breath. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zevran,” Xander said cordially. 

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” Zevran grinned, eyes passing appraisingly over Xander and each of his companions. “And my lovely Champion! Wonderful to see you again, my dear.”

“It’s just _Hawke_ , Zevran, please,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Are you the Warden Hawke was speaking of?” Xander asked.

An inelegant snort echoed from the back of the chamber; “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

An impossibly petite elf came out of the shadows then, sheathing a pair of her own daggers. Her flame red hair was cut short around her face; her rosy skin was crisscrossed with all manner of scars; her forest-green eyes were framed by a swirling black tattoo, reminiscent of Zevran’s on the opposite cheek. What drew his attention most, though, was the dark blue-and-silver Warden armor.

“My name is Brinn Tabris. It is an honor to meet all of you, though I wish it were some place nicer,” she laughed—a raucous sound at odds with her petite stature. Alyx let out a stifled gasp at the sound of the Warden’s name. “And I must apologize for my husband’s wretched behavior.”

“Ah, my Warden,” Zevran intoned affectionately. His whole expression softened when he looked at his lady. “You would not have me any other way.”

“This is true,” Brinn replied. “But strangers may not get your particular brand of welcome—most people don’t respond well to threats and barely-concealed flirting.”

“He doesn’t bother concealing his flirting with me,” a wry growl echoed from the entrance. Fenris sauntered in, as silent as a Chantry mouse, and Xander had to try his best not to jump. “The entrance has been secured—we shouldn’t have company.”

“I see _you_ couldn’t shake your over-protective husband for very long, Hawke,” Brinn teased. 

“I could say the same about you,” Hawke countered with an arched brow at Zevran. Hawke yanked on the leather tie holding her braid in place, attempting to shake out the soaked strands. 

Fenris and Zevran didn’t seem to react well to the light-hearted jabs; the tone of the room suddenly shifted. Zevran narrowed his eyes imperceptibly, taking on an air of impassivity that spoke of _tension_ thick enough to cut, while a muscle jumped in Fenris’s jaw. He stood behind Hawke, gathering her thick hair into his hands and wringing it out, combing through it gently with his fingers. 

“ _Fasta Vass,_ ” Dorian whispered. “Brinn Tabris… as in _the_ Brinn Tabris.”

“The Hero of Ferelden!” Alyx added. Her eyes were so wide and bright, if Xander didn’t know better, he thought she may have squealed. “You… you were _there!_ You…”

Brinn shook her head with a fond smile; “I really need to change my name. Yes, that was me. And _most of it_ was true. Interrupted wedding, Grey Wardens, Ostagar and all that. I mean, the circumstances behind becoming a Grey Warden had a bit of flair added, but—”

“So,” Alyx interrupted, pouting a bit. “You _didn’t_ fight through a nobleman's manor to escape—”

“Oh no,” Brinn interjected, a sadistic smile twisting the corners of her mouth. “ _That_ part was true. But that is a long, sad tale that need not be repeated here. You’re here about the nastiness having to do with Wardens, yes? Much more pleasant topic.”

“Yes,” Xander replied. “Most of the Wardens—all but you and a friend of mine, as far as I know—disappear; then I run into a Darkspawn Magister named Corypheus.”

“And you think one might have something to do with the other,” Brinn finished, sighing deeply. “I think so too, though of course that’s not the _official_ answer.”

“What does that mean?” Xander asked. 

“When Hawke killed Corypheus, Warden Command thought the matter resolved,” Brinn spat. Like Hawke, her whole demeanor had shifted as she paced towards a map spread over a rough worktable. “Archdemons don’t die from simple injury—trust me on that one, _I_ know—and I feared Corypheus may have the same power. I started to investigate.”

“Why would you think that?” Dorian interjected. The sound of his voice did something odd to Fenris—his whole posture shifted to one of readiness and wariness. His dark eyebrows furrowed, and only Hawke’s soft hand resting on his cheek seemed to calm him. 

“Warden-y senses?” Brinn offered, waggling her fingers at them. “Gut feeling? Warrior’s intuition?”

“What she’s _not_ telling you,” Hawke said, planting a fist on her hips. “Is that the Wardens have their secrets and they are _not_ willing to share. Believe me.”

“If an alliance between us is going to work,” Brinn countered. “Then you have to allow me my confidences, and I will allow you yours.”

“I don’t have many secrets,” Xander said with a shrug. 

“Don’t you?” Brinn riposted, arching a brow over his shoulder. “Anyway, I found hints at my theory, but no proof. Then, not long after… every Warden began to hear the Calling.”

“I recall that being a bad thing,” Hawke mused. “What I _don’t_ recall is you telling me about all this! Wait… don’t tell me. Warden secret?”

“Well,” Brinn smiled sadly. “I do try to keep _some_ of my oaths to the Wardens.”

“So the Calling is some sort of Ritual? What is it exactly?” Xander felt like the girls were running circles around him. He flushed to the tips of his ears when he got an arch look from Brinn. 

“Well,” she sighed deeply, scrubbing her hand through her short, red hair. “The Wardens are tied to the Darkspawn. We’re connected; and eventually, that connection poisons you. That… that’s the Calling. It’s when a Warden knows her time has come.”

“So you’ve begun to hear this… Calling?” Xander pressed.

“Yes,” Brinn stated flatly. “It starts with bad dreams...then you hear the music. It’s quiet at first, but… it calls. And soon it becomes unbearable.”

Brinn’s voice had dropped to a harsh whisper; she wrapped her arms around herself, and Xander could see her knees shaking. Zevran immediately gathered her into his arms, pressing his face into her hair. Xander could hear him murmuring something, and whatever it was, it seemed to soothe her. Still, she leaned into him like he was her lifeline... her pillar. She gazed at him with such naked affection, it was hard to be in its presence. 

“In death, sacrifice,” Brinn finished with a nonchalant shrug. 

“And every Warden is hearing this?” Fenris interjected. “They think they’re dying?”

“I think Corypheus might be causing it,” Brinn answered. “If all the Wardens die, then who will stop the next Blight? And while our leaders scramble for an answer, the Wardens do something desperate.”

“Which is exactly what Corypheus wants,” Hawke finished. 

“So you think Corypheus is mimicking the Calling?” Dorian suddenly asked.

“Even if he is, it doesn’t matter,” Brinn said. “All that matters is that every Warden thinks they’re going to die, and take it from _me_ that the threat of mortality makes men do stupid, stupid things.”

“I hear that,” Alyx muttered.

“But how can Corypheus make _all_ the Wardens hear it?” Xander asked, kicking at a rock on the floor. “And how far does it reach? Is it just within Orlais, or does it extend to Ferelden? The Free Marches? _Weisshaupt?_ ”

“Could the King of Ferelden be affected?” Alyx added. “I know Alistair was with you during the Blight, and he was a Warden _before_ you!”

“I haven’t heard from Alistair in some time,” Brinn replied coolly. “He and I are both maintaining our own lives and… we fell out of touch. I _do_ miss him, and I hope he’s keeping a level head. I _pray_ this isn’t affecting him like it is me.”

“Brinn,” Zevran chastised softly, looking at her with wounded eyes. 

“Zevran, I am a Warden Commander,” Brinn countered. “I can be replaced; Alistair rules a bloody _nation_ and not as disposable as me. This isn’t to say I want to die…but my death would mean little in the grand scheme.” Zevran’s eyes flashed, and Xander could tell he wanted to argue, though his hold on Brinn tightened.

“As far as Corypheus is concerned,” Hawke interrupted. “Fenris, Varric and I all saw he could control Wardens. He almost had a Warden named Janeka ready to free him and offer him partnership, or whatever that _loon_ was raving about.”

“He is tied to the Blight as they are,” Fenris mused. “Perhaps… he is using this connection to control them? He _is_ a Magister, after all.”

“Regardless,” Xander sighed. “The Wardens are making one _last_ desperate attack on the Darkspawn.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Brinn growled. 

“Nothing,” Xander answered. “Only that desperation can lead to some poor decisions.”

“Listen,” Brinn snapped, shoving away from Zevran and pointing a finger in Xander’s chest—the highest point on him she could easily reach. “I _saw_ what a Blight did to Ferelden! If Wardens hadn’t been there to stop it, there would be no more Thedas!”

“So why are there Wardens in Crestwood looking to arrest you?” Alyx asked smoothly.

Brinn sighed deeply; “Warden Commander Clarel proposed… drastic measures. Like, blood ritual drastic measures.” Fenris made a noise under his breath that sounded distinctly like a snarl. “I opposed the measure; I’ve seen what Blood Magic and dealing with Demons does to people, and I would rather not see it repeated.”

Xander tore at his hair; he had enough of feeling _helpless—_ like he was being funneled to a specific outcome. He paced a furious, staccato rhythm across the cave floor, and he felt every pair of eyes on him; “So, what? We have _nothing_? We just have to accept the fact we may have to destroy the Order responsible for keeping the Blight at bay?”

“Well, that’s the good news,” Brinn answered lightly. She led him back over to her table; a map was spread out and held down with relatively clean rocks. It had formations and movements and notations that Xander was sure Cullen and Emma would give every royal the Inquisition had to get a glance at. “Wardens are gathering in the Western Approach.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Hawke quipped with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Ferelden rains to a desert clear on the other side of Orlais? What’s next, a nature hike through the jungles of Seheron?”

“Don’t even joke about that, Hawke,” Fenris replied with a shudder. “You haven’t known misery until you’ve known what the locals call ‘prickly heat’.”

“I could send a team to investigate, but I would rather see it myself,” Brinn bowled over their banter with a pointed look over her shoulder. “And I could use the help. I could meet you back in Skyhold and prepare for the expedition.”

“Sure,” Xander assented with a shrug. “We welcome your expertise, Warden Commander. But Hawke and Fenris will have to show you the way, assuming they’re going. It may be difficult to lay low—”

“I have had enough of laying low,” Hawke snapped. “We’re headed to Skyhold… I want to see this Western Approach. We’ll be happy to show Brinn and Zevran back… I’m pretty sure I remember the way.”

“I remember the way,” Fenris said flatly, arching a brow at Hawke. 

“Fantastic,” Xander replied, feeling like something was _finally_ going right. “I have some business in Crestwood, but we should only be a few days behind you.”

“The rift in the lake?” Brinn asked, canting her head in askance. 

“Yes,” Xander answered. “I can’t in good conscience leave it here.”

“I don’t blame you,” Brinn said, glancing back at Zevran with a mischievous smile in her eyes. 

“Oh, _mi amor_ , do you even have to ask?” He thumbed the hilt of his daggers in their sheath, grinning a terrifyingly gleeful grin. 

“Give us some time to pack up the camp,” Brinn requested. “And we’ll help you take back Old Crestwood.”

~~~

“Krem, Dalish! Go catch those stragglers—no one gets away,” the Chief’s booming voice called across the beach. “Skinner, Grim—make sure all these bastards are dead.”

With a nod, Krem took off down the beach, Dalish running after him. The telltale glow of her ‘bow’ lit up the slick stones underfoot as she prepared to ‘fire’ (he could hear her voice in his head— _definitely_ not _a staff, no sir, you must be mistaken_ —and he stifled a chuckle). 

The few Red Templars and Venatori soldiers who had managed to slip away from the fight were a pretty sorry bunch, and Krem made quick work of them, especially with Dalish at his back. He grinned at her, and with a satisfied nod went about checking that none of them were still breathing. Their orders were to wipe this operation out _completely,_ and that meant no survivors. When he was certain the job was done, he headed back to report in.

“All clear, Chief,” he said as he approached. “Another job well done.”

“Hey, don’t get cocky.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The sound of splashing, followed by footsteps in the wet gravel, drew his attention towards the water. A pair of rowboats from the ships anchored offshore were being pulled onto the beach. The man and woman at the head of the group coming ashore must be the captains, Krem thought. They stood out easily—their clothes were obviously designed as much for making an impression as for practicality. The woman wore a tight corset and an absurdly large hat which might have been a bit more impressive if its feathers were not waterlogged and drooping. Her dark skin glistened in the rain, and her eyes flashed under the brim of her hat, a smirk tugging at her full lips. The man was almost as impressive, in his long, dark coat and well-fitted vest. He wore a casual grin as they approached, though Krem did notice his eyes flit predictably over the Chief’s imposing form.

“Well hello, gentlemen,” the woman called, sauntering towards them. 

“Admiral Isabela, I take it?” the Chief asked.

“Ooh, I do like a man who remembers the proper form of address,” Isabela cooed. “Yes, that’s me. This is Zane, my second in command. Well, he insists that’s what his name is anyway, I just call him _cutie_.”

“Isabela,” Zane groaned. “I am _not_ your second in command. I do have my own ship, you know.”

“Yes, and you are _so_ adorable when you get all riled up,” she said with a grin. She reached over to ruffle his artfully messy hair; he swatted her hands away with a protesting huff, but Isabela was relentless and soon, the pirate’s lovingly crafted coif was a nest. 

“I’m Zane,” he repeated after successfully dislodging Isabela. “Captain of the Merman’s Mercy; glad to see Hawke managed to get our note to someone in time. You must be with the Inquisition.”

“Technically, we work _for_ the Inquisitor,” the Chief corrected. “Name’s Iron Bull, and these are my men—the Chargers.”

Isabela pursed her lips knowingly, tossing out her rounded hip in a casual stance; “I’ve heard of you. I distinctly remember a story about giant baiting—”

The Chief chuckled at that; “Yeah, we’ve had some good times.”

Krem rolled his eyes, nudging the Chief in the side with his elbow; “You must remember the giant baiting incident differently than I do if you can log it away under ‘good times’.” 

Zane crossed his arms, grimacing when the wet leather made a sound. He appraised the Chief from head to foot, his eyebrows steadily climbing to his mussed hairline; “I wouldn’t mind hearing these stories… or a few more, if you have them.”

“Oh, I can think of a few,” Bull responded, his voice dropping into a low purr. 

_Oh, no._

“Let my boys and I clean up here,” Bull added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the carnage. “I have to fill out my report for the Inquisitor. Then maybe your crews can join us for drinks. It’s on us.”

“As long as you’re there,” Zane fairly _purred_. “I’m sure I’ll be up for _anything_.”

_Oh no._

Krem gladly took that cue to _leave_ , heading back up the shore to start setting up camp. He and the rest of the chargers cleared the bodies into a pile, set up tents, and unloaded the barrels of ale from the cart (all with remarkably little help from the Chief, who was still too busy hitting on the damned pirate and decidedly not filling out forms or any of the things he’d said he needed to do).

“Any chance you want to help out with this, Chief?” He grunted as he hefted another cask onto his shoulder. 

“You look like you have it under control, Krem,” Chief called back.

“Right,” Krem grumbled under his breath. “Thanks for that.”

With or without help, they got the camp set up in good time, and as the rest of the raiders came ashore they opened the casks—though _not_ with axes this time. Let it not be said that he didn’t learn from his mistakes. 

Soon enough there was a mug in near every hand, and the raiders were mingling seamlessly with the rest of the Chargers. Krem took a sip of his own ale, surveying the scene with satisfaction. There really was nothing like a job well done. The Chief, he noticed, was _still_ talking up that Captain, and there seemed to be decidedly less space between the pair of them now. Krem looked away, rolling his eyes. 

“Krem, was it?” said a sultry voice behind him. “I do miss being around men in _armor._ ”

He turned around, a slow grin spreading across his face. Isabela was standing there with a hip cocked, and Krem _very_ much liked the way she was looking at him. 

“Glad I could oblige, then… Admiral, was it?” he said, an easy grin spreading across his face.

“I think _you_ can just call me Isabela, sweet thing,” she purred.

“Isabela, then. So how did a bunch of raiders end up working with the Inquisition anyway?”

“I might say the same thing of a mercenary company led by a massive Qunari. Not _quite_ what I expected.”

“The Chargers might be unconventional, but we’re the best around,” he asserted.

“I’m certainly not arguing,” she said, giving him that _look_ again. 

Before he could even respond, an obnoxiously loud moan sounded… from the direction of the Chief’s tent. 

“Not _again_ ,” Krem groaned, turning towards the tent. He let out a noise of disgust. 

Isabela chuckled, and laid a hand on his. “Maybe I can help… _distract_ you,” she intoned seductively. Krem met her eyes with what he hoped was a casual smirk. 

“What did you have in mind, Admiral?”

Just as Isabela was opening her mouth to speak, a breathy shout of “Oh _fuck, YES!_ ” came from the Chief’s tent. 

“You have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME, CHIEF!” Krem bellowed.


	21. Chapter 21

**8 weeks earlier**

The night air was brisk as Brinn made her way away from town, and she wrapped her scarf closer around her face. She wove through the trees, moving as quickly as she could manage while avoiding the road. She cursed silently at the roots and branches that constantly hindered her progress; give her a narrow, twisting alley any day, but the woods still did not agree with her. Too preoccupied with the obstacles her surroundings presented, she didn’t notice she had been followed.

Something whirred through the air next to her ear, lodging into a tree ahead of her with a solid thunk. She tensed, fingers twitching towards her daggers, before realizing that she recognized the knife. Not that that was an entirely comforting thought, considering the circumstances in which she’d left him.

“Zevran,” she whispered, turning slowly to face him. He stepped forward from the shadows, face set in the carefully neutral mask he only ever wore around her when he was truly, truly angry.

“You drugged me,” he said, eyes narrowed, hard. “I will say this, you are truly a great pupil, _mi amor_.”

“I had no choice,” she retorted, indignant anger of her own rising in her tone. “The red lyrium. You’ve seen it. It’s everywhere, especially where I’m going. It… it has the _blight_ , Zev. I don’t know how, but I can _feel_ it. I can’t… Zevran if you got infected, I couldn’t….”

“So you thought you would drug me, give me the slip, and then I’d what? Shrug and be on my way?”

“Zev, that isn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what it felt like, waking up from a drug-induced sleep to find you gone? I thought… _brasca_ , I thought that...” The mask slipped, and suddenly the anguish was plain on his face, his eyes wild with remembered worry. 

“Maker, I’m sorry Zev. I just… I don’t think I could bear it if anything happened to you. Do you have any idea how important you are to me?” she murmured, trying to make her voice as gentle as possible. It killed her to see that look on his face.

“And do you think that you mean any less to me, my Warden?” he said, a hint of his usual warmth seeping back into his voice, though there was still something hard there also.

“Shit. You’re right. _Fuck_ , Zev, I just… I _couldn’t_ …” She shut her eyes forcefully, clenching her hands into fists. “The nightmares. They’ve been worse lately. You were—” Her breath hitched sharply, a broken sob wracking her small frame.

“Shh, it’s forgiven, _mi vida_ ,” Zevran soothed her, running his hands gently along her arms. “I’m here, see? As healthy and gorgeous as ever.”

She snorted, leaning gladly into his embrace. She rested her cheek against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

“What would I do without you, Zev?” she asked him, sniffing a bit as tears ran down her face.

“You will never have to find out. Did I not tell you once that I would gladly storm the Black City itself at your side? I meant it. I am yours until the end, my love.”

She threw her arms around his waist in a vice grip, burying her face in his chest and hoping that the end wasn’t approaching as quickly as she feared.

He pulled away after a few moments, leaning back so he could see her. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, thumbs brushing soothingly against her temples as his hands cradled her face. 

“Now,” he said. “What do you say we find the road, and be on our way? It would not do to keep the lovely Champion waiting, yes? I am rather looking forward to seeing that elf of hers again.” He grinned that roguish grin she loved so much, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

“Hey, wait a minute! I burned that letter, how did you even—”

He laughed, and she felt some of the knots in her chest ease at the infectious sound. “You are a very good pupil, but I am still the master.” There was a wicked gleam in his eye and she nodded at him, knowing she’d been bested. 

“C’mere you,” she said, hooking a finger in the strap across his cuirass and pulling him closer, leaning up to press her lips to his. She could feel him smiling against her mouth until, with a low hum, he pulled her flush against him, bringing a hand to the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. It was with a deep sigh that she pulled back, leaning her forehead against his.

“Promise me you will not try to leave me behind again,” he murmured, his brow drawing together as he spoke.

“Promise you’ll track me down and talk sense into me again when I do?” she whispered. If she was right about what was happening, the nightmares would only get worse, and she knew there was every chance she would panic again, acting without thought. 

“Always,” Zevran said, pressing a kiss to her nose. “Now. Shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said with a soft smile, stepping back and grabbing his hand to weave her fingers through his. 

~~~

Hawke stared at the letters in front of her, each one bringing a sense of doom. Tabris was skirting the border of Ferelden and Orlais, trying to avoid being tracked by her comrades. Carver was last seen in the Free Marches—Aveline had tracked him to his last known location but found only an abandoned camp. Varric had been taken into custody by Seekers, been thrust into this so called Inquisition, and now...Corypheus was alive and possibly responsible for all of it.

_I’ve set my crow free and am making my way into the dogwood. You may want to consider giving up your ghost. ~ BT_

Anyone else reading the last letter would be left dumbfounded at its meaning. But Hawke knew exactly what Brinn was referring to. She had purposely left her husband behind before making her way into Ferelden. Now she was suggesting that Hawke do the same, leave Fenris behind before heading to Skyhold to meet with Varric and this Inquisitor he had allied himself with. As if he already knew what she was planning Fenris sat up suddenly in bed, awoken from one of his nightmares.

“I’m here,” she said gently, setting the letters down and sliding in next to him in bed. Careful to keep a small measure of distance between them until he was calmed. Years of travelling had taught them all they could ever need to know of one another. While Hawke sought out a warm body and immediate comfort after a bad dream, Fenris needed time to assess his surroundings and to believe that he was safe before seeking such intimacies. His breathing steadied into a normal pace and he shuffled himself close to her, resting his head against her chest and murmuring pleasantly when she ran her fingers through his long hair.

“Where were you this time?” She asked. His dreams sometimes took him to places he didn't remember, and then to places he wished he could forget. He paused for a moment and squeezed her tight.

“It was you, lost to me where I could not follow. I kept chasing after you and every time I got close there would be this flash of green light and you would disappear.” He shifted and held himself above her. Gazing into her eyes that were lit only by the dying flames in the hearth. “You’re going to leave me behind.”

His accusation left her stunned and she knew her silence gave away the truth. She had already begun making the preparations. When she had suggested they stay at an inn instead of in the woods as they had been, he had looked at her strangely. When she had paid for a full week he remained silent, though his eyes told her he was already putting the details into place.

“I wouldn't call it leaving behind so much as...keeping you safe from harm. I’ve already lost so much Fenris; I don't know if i could survive losing you too.”

“And what of me? Do you think I am so cold hearted as to survive losing you?”

“No, no I would never say that.”

“But you have, by suggesting that I would survive losing you. Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me. How quickly you forget that,” he said, caressing her cheek tenderly.

“There is a good chance that neither of us will survive this, Fenris,” she whispered, leaning into the hand on her cheek. His calluses were rough, but familiar, and he touched her with such adoration, her heart ached. 

“How is that any different that anything we have already faced? Need I remind of you how many times both you and i have stared down certain death only to come out of it mostly unscathed,” he said, running his finger along the scar that Hawke had acquired during the fight with Meredith. A Templar had surprised her by pulling a dagger after she had disarmed him; the blade had passed just under her eye and nearly cut through her nose. Fenris remembered seeing her run her thumb through the blood to swipe it across the other cheek and charge forward unfazed.

“I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“Nothing is going to keep me from you, remember that,” he replied roughly, claiming her lips in a possessive kiss. There would be no more talk of one leaving the other behind. No discussions of the desire to keep the other safe from harm. “How soon before we depart?”

“Tomorrow evening, why?”

“This is probably the last time I’m going to have you in a proper bed, and I intend to take advantage of it.”

~~~

Taking Starkhaven had been almost anticlimactic in its ease. What he thought would take an army and possibly years of bloodshed and war had taken him walking up to the palace, challenging the false prince to a duel, and soundly beating him. He showed mercy and compassion, and when he vowed to serve Starkhaven and its interests for the rest of his days, his people had followed. The last of the Vaels had returned from the dead to reclaim their floundering kingdom. It was a romantic image. 

Sadly, the romance of the image did _not_ live up to reality. Goran really _had_ been an incompetent lout without the first idea of how to run a city-state. Despite having spent much of his formative years in the Chantry, Sebastian still had some sense of how things should be run. At the very least, he felt he knew how things should _not_ be run, and _this_ most certainly wasn’t it! Starkhaven’s coffers had run thin, trade was falling apart, and the city had been run into the ground. Starkhaven had been suffering, and yet _another_ Vael with a dubious claim to the throne had done little to still the growing panic. So he let his actions speak for themselves—he worked tirelessly, day and night, to put the city back to rights. 

It had been near a year of constant vigilance, but Starkhaven was put back on the right path. The coffers were filling back up, his people were coming around to him and his policies, and tension seemed to ease. Trade began to flow. It wasn’t perfect, but soon, joy prevailed in Starkhaven, and the city began to flourish if not thrive. 

Once external affairs were put in order, Sebastian had turned within—his cabinet, his advisors, and the nobles close to him. The Harimanns were good friends and staunch allies of his family not long ago. They were trusted in the courts. His parents and brothers had paid dearly for that trust. He wouldn’t let it happen again. Some younger courtiers called him paranoid; veterans of Starkhaven’s assemblies knew that paranoia may have been the only thing standing between the Prince and a knife in the back. They remembered the night Flint Company had come for the Royal family; the halls of the palace had run red with Vael blood. Both the Prince and Princess, along with Sebastian’s brothers and _their_ wives and families were all cut down. Servants who stood in the way. Guards who would not yield. Everyone. 

Sebastian’s paranoia was well founded.

The corruption in his inner circle ran deep, and it had been a long time before he could trust anyone. An old steward of Starkhaven was a boon and a saint; he toiled away with Sebastian, turning him into the Prince his family never wanted him to be. Ser Bronwyn was indispensable, and had been a loyal ally of the Vael family since Sebastian’s grandfather wore the crown, and Sebastian trusted him with his kingdom and his life. 

Once the inner circle was weeded out, he had to move on to the final and most unfortunate step, in his opinion. He had to consider taking a wife. It had never been something he’d considered back in Kirkwall, and despite his vows (which he still held dear, not matter how moot they were) it was his _duty_ to produce heirs. As he’d flipped through proposal after proposal, noting the monotonous qualities of would-be princesses, Bronwyn came sweeping through his office door. 

“Bronwyn,” Sebastian greeted cordially. “Thank the Maker; an excuse to look away from these endless marriage queries. Please, sit.”

“Forgive me, your Highness,” Bronwyn replied with a short, formal bow. 

Sebastian froze; Bronwyn was never so formal with him unless something was going _very_ wrong. 

“What is it?” Sebastian asked curtly. 

“I have a message from a Sister Nightingale,” Bronwyn answered with a knowing quirk of his brow. “The courier was _very abrupt_ , but also clear that your most trusted advisor take this directly to you. She would not relinquish it until I took it myself.”

Sebastian snatched the parchment from his steward’s hands, perhaps a touch too abruptly, and broke the blackened-violet seal. His eyes flickered over the message, but it was largely meaningless to anyone not in the know—a series of passages from the Chant, but with the wrong verse numbers attached. Thankfully, he knew this cipher. It was one used by the Divine’s agents, and after Kirkwall he’d… been brought into the fold. 

“Thank you, Bronwyn,” Sebastian said curtly. “That will be all. If you don’t mind, I would appreciate no more visitors for the time being.”

As the steward and one of his servants backed out of the office with respectful bows, Sebastian set to work. It had been some time since he’d had to decode one of Nightingale’s messages, so it took him longer than he would have liked. The message had been short and to the point, but its contents shattered him: 

_Sebastian~_

_The Rebellion has gone on long enough; Justinia is calling for a Conclave of the leaders. It will be held at the Temple of Sacred ashes. She does not have high hopes—hence her order to rebuild the Inquisition of old. Consider this your invitation. I do so look forward to hearing from you._

_~Nightingale_

Sebastian raked his hand through his hair, making a disgusted noise when they tangled on his simple, gold circlet. He immediately reached for his parchment for his reply, using the counter cipher. Leliana had taught him much in his short time with her. He couldn’t leave his kingdom for the Conclave—if the Divine feared it wouldn’t end well, he couldn’t risk it. Starkhaven was only just starting to stabilize and if he were to be lost, it would again fall into chaos. If the two largest cities in the Free Marches fell, the entire Marches would crumble—of this he was certain. He vowed to pledge all he could spare for the Inquisition. 

Those closest to the Prince knew he spent much of his time leading up to the Conclave praying constantly. He prayed for guidance and for peace; he prayed Thedas would not need him to take up arms. What time he wasn’t spending in his little private chapel or doing work, he spent in the practice yards. In the years since Kirkwall, he hadn’t lost his eye, though his arms were weaker with disuse. He would not allow himself to fail again. Not by his own weakness. Despite his earnest pleas to the Maker, a dark part of him knew he would be called upon again. 

The world was shaken when the Conclave failed. Justinia had been murdered, and the people had raised a man they were calling the Herald of Andraste. A Trevelyan—he knew the name _very_ well. Edward and Beatrice were good friends, and spoke well of their son. Edward was a faithful man, and Beatrice was almost boastful in the court—her first born was the _Herald_ of _Andraste_. 

True to his word, Sebastian did everything he could for the Inquisition. He sent troops and gold; he made a presence in Kirkwall, which was still healing after Anders’ betrayal. He tried his best to conduct himself as a Prince should. He tried to maintain his distance and find a bride; he needed to produce an heir and let the new blood fight the wars of Ages. 

But he _knew_ deep in his heart that he missed the fight. Maker preserve him, but he longed for the days with Hawke, as conflicted as he’d been. Despite his earnest desire to help those in need, he also missed the adrenaline-fueled evenings of battling slavers and Blood Mages and bandits; he missed the thrill of getting into the thick of it, watching enemy after enemy fall to his unerring shot. His missed the ritualistic nature of putting on his armor every morning; of kneeling before Andraste and asking her for his arrows to fly straight and true. Every day was a struggle not to leave Bronwyn in charge and flee to Haven, if only to investigate this so-called ‘heretical movement’ with Andraste’s Prophet at the fore.

And then, news arrived of Haven’s destruction. And all that it entailed. And Sebastian could not waver anymore. 

In Kirkwall, his indecision had nearly cost him everything. It cost him his family and a small part of his heart; only his unflinchingly loyal friends, Hawke and Fenris, had managed to talk him down from his blind anger. They forgave his rash words, spoken in grief, and they kept him at their side. But it had been too close. He would not make the same mistakes again. 

He set Bronwyn to rule in his place while he was away; despite his steward’s protests, he knew a small party could travel faster than a royal entourage. If his calculations were correct, he could be at the new Keep before the month was out, if they rode fast and took Starkhaven’s finest mounts. He would not waver; he would not falter. Not again. 

He slung his grandfather’s bow around his back, and in the cover of night, Prince Sebastian departed for Skyhold. 


	22. Chapter 22

Taking the Keep had been difficult, but straightforward. Brinn and Zevran offered to slip in the back while Xander’s team stormed the front gate. Xander had thought he had the more difficult job until he’d come across Brinn and Zevran going toe-to-toe with what could only be the merc band’s massive leader. The elves dodged in and out of range of his massive weapon, slipping in between his guard; their daggers flashed like lightning and they danced around the man like he was standing still. Zevran was almost blindingly fast—there one moment, gone before one could blink—while Brinn moved like water. What fascinated Xander about the combatants was their almost _flippant_ nature. They traded quips and gibes like a couple of green recruits harassing each other in the training ring. 

“Is it bad I actually _missed_ fortified keeps full of bandits?” Brinn shouted over the din of combat.

Zevran laughed loudly, a wicked grin splitting his face; “I did rather miss watching you battle said bandits.”

Brinn drove her shoulder into the bandit’s middle, and as he doubled over, she jabbed her dagger upward, lodging it into his eye before he could recover. Despite her fine Warden armor being spattered with blood, she looked at Zevran almost fondly; “Have I mentioned I love you, lately?”

Zevran, equally coated in viscera, stepped into Brinn’s space, toeing the bandit onto his back and removing Brinn’s dagger. He presented it to her as a dashing nobleman would request a young lady’s hand—with a flourish and a short bow at the waist; “You could stand to mention it more, _mi amor._ ”

“Oh, Zevran, stop,” Brinn giggled—an exaggeratedly girlish sound—and accepted the knife. “We have _company,_ and we don’t need to be scandalizing the Inquisitor.”

“An audience has never stopped us before,” Zevran replied with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

Xander made a strangled noise in the back of his throat; judging by Alyx’s arched brow, he was probably blushing; “Please. Stop.”

Brinn chuckled, sheathing her daggers with a flourish; “Oh, no, my love. We’ve scandalized the Inquisitor.”

“Well,” Zevran countered, picking through the bandit’s pockets. Xander had long ago stopped being bothered by such actions. “We _did_ help capture a lovely new keep for the Inquisition. Perhaps he will take it as an apology?”

~~~

Within three days, he’d raised the banner at Caer Bronach; agents had trickled in from around Ferelden (he would have to ask Leliana how she _did_ it) and it didn’t take long for them to have a functioning base in Crestwood. The first in Ferelden… Xander felt stupidly proud of himself for it. He was still nursing a shallow stab under his ribs, but they had to drain the dam and get to Old Crestwood if they were going to have any hope of bring relief to the villagers. 

“Does it still hurt, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked, looking pointedly at where Xander clutched his side. 

“It’s not unbearable,” Xander answered, waving Dorian off. “I probably wasn’t as stealthy as I should have been during that last wave.”

“I think we should be glad Hawke wasn’t here,” Varric said. “Something tells me she would have said something along the lines of ‘oh, a hostile, fortified keep? Let’s kick down the door—it will be fun!’”

“What makes you think that, Varric?” Xander quipped, pushing through the gate that led down to the dam. “The fact that you’ve met her once in your life?”

“I’m going to choose not to comment on that,” Varric grumbled with a fond shake of his head and a sideways glance at Alyx. “Something tells me that if I did, it would somehow make it back to her.”

“Who, me?” Alyx asked, her voice a _little_ too high and a _touch_ too offended. “ _No._ I would never!”

Xander rolled his eyes, but he was glad his party was talking about something other than the rain. He entered the little building on the dam—thankful for the sudden warm and dry conditions—when he heard a movement. Too big to be a rat… He froze when he heard... _was that a giggle?_

“Oh, no,” Xander grumbled. He’d heard enough colorful _rumors_ about what Zevran and Brinn got up to to have his fill of shenanigans at the moment. He decided against stealth and strode into the main chamber. 

A young couple laid before a roaring fire, tangled in rumpled clothes and a fur rug; at the first sounds of his boots on the planks, they flew apart as if they’d been electrocuted. Xander slapped his hand against his forehead in exasperation, while the more raucous of his companions (mainly, _all_ of them) erupted into uproarious laughter. 

“We’re so sorry, messere!” the girl exclaimed, trying to preserve her modesty. She flushed scarlet at the laughter. 

“We didn’t know _you_ —” the boy tried to explain. “We were just trying to—”

“Oh, I _know_ what you were _trying_ ,” Zevran chuckled with a suggestive smirk. “Not a bad location, if I do say so myself.”

“Except the bandits,” Brinn replied with a barely concealed guffaw. 

“Again, my love,” Zevran countered. “That has _never_ stopped us before.”

“A bit dusty for a proper illicit tryst, if you ask me,” Dorian added.

“Nonsense, the dust builds character!” Alyx said with a snort.

“Please stop,” Xander pleaded. His helpless tone of voice only invited renewed peals of laughter; only this time his embarrassment was exacerbated by the idle thought of Dorian spread before that fireplace. He tamped down on those thoughts _hard_ before turning back to the young couple. “We’ll only be a moment; I couldn’t care less what you two get up to in your personal time.”

“I knew this was a mistake,” the girl whimpered. 

~~~

“This place stinks,” Dorian complained under his breath. 

Xander couldn’t exactly argue with Dorian—it was true that the tunnels beneath Old Crestwood stank like the Holy Heavens—but he was more concerned with _not_ falling through the rickety little plank ramp that led into the dark. 

“I’m sure Tevinter just always smells like roses,” Varric muttered in a sarcastic aside. 

“More like lavender,” Dorian corrected, quirking his brow at the dwarf. “And spice. And citrus, during the right parts of the year; sneering superiority through the rest.”

“And don’t tell me,” Brinn countered. “Ferelden smells like wet dog and mud, right?”

“I wasn’t aware mud had a smell, but now that you mention it,” Dorian grumbled. 

“Believe me, I’ve heard worse about my homeland,” Brinn chuckled. “It took Zevran some time to stop complaining about the odor.”

“Forgive me if this… charmingly brown little country can’t compare to the glittering streets of Antiva,” Zevran replied with faux-wounded dramatics. 

“Zevran, you do know that fresh leather smells like a cesspool, right?” Brinn gibed, poking him in the side. “And while we were there, Antiva smelled like fish. I’ll never understand the appeal.”

“Agree to disagree, my love,” Zevran purred. 

Xander rolled his eyes—it had been like this since they’d drained the dam and started on Old Crestwood. He supposed the constant gloom had been too much to handle; he was starting to miss Skyhold. He missed not being surrounded by corpses; he missed dry socks; he especially missed his Mark not tingling with every beat of his heart. He shook out the offending hand, trying to get it to stop sparking in the dark. 

“Does it hurt?” Dorian asked, a concerned tilt to his brow. “Is it still bothering you? Is it because of the stab wound, do you think?”

“No, _Mother,_ ” Xander quipped, clenching his hand into a fist. “It just gets… I don’t know, more active when there’s a rift nearby and this rift is… rather big.”

“Rather big, he says,” Varric grumbled. “Next thing you know, you’ll be saying Firefly thinks books are ‘neat’ and Curly is ‘a bit standoffish.’”

“OK, Varric, I have to ask,” Xander said, yelping in an undignified manner when his wet boot skidded on something slick. “Curly is the Commander, I know that. Still don’t know why, but I get it. But ‘Firefly?’ Who is Firefly?”

“Little Iris,” Varric answered simply, deftly avoiding the slick spot. “You know, your sister?”

“Does it have something to do with her penchant for throwing fireballs?” Xander quipped. 

“As I told you, Marshmallow,” Varric riposted. “I don’t explain the names; I just issue them.”

“Throwing fireballs, hmm?” Brinn interjected. “I could have used someone like her when I was fighting the Archdemon. Loved Morrigan to pieces, but I couldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.”

“Trust me, you’ll get your chance to meet her. You’re exactly the sort of dream she has cooked up in her head. An actual hero from her books, right there in front of her,” Dorian added with a chuckle.

“‘Little Iris’, hm? Not everyday there’s someone other than me being called little,” Brinn mused.

“Although I can see Iris whooping an Archdemon’s ass,” Alyx interjected flippantly. “So long as it looked at Xander cross eyed, she’d have roasted it alive.”

“She is absurdly protective,” Dorian said. “It’s rather adorable.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Xander laughed. His mirth was immediately cut off when the vestiges of a spirit—a wisp, perhaps—passed through his chest. He drew in a sharp gasp, pressing his hand over the offended skin. “Maker’s furry ballsack, what _was_ that?”

“Did the Inquisitor just swear?” Brinn chuckled. 

“Rather vehemently,” Zevran answered. “If he keeps it up, pretty soon he will be able to give even Oghren a run for his money, no?”

“I’m sure about now, Oghren feels like a goose just walked over his grave,” Brinn laughed. “He would be _heartbroken_ to hear such slander, my love!”

“Andraste preserve me, could _someone_ be serious for a moment?” Xander pleaded, a desperate keen seeping into his tone. 

“I’m pretty sure it was harmless,” Alyx interjected with a quirked brow. 

“Pretty sure, she says,” Xander sighed. 

“Why? Did it do something?” Alyx asked, her brows drawing together. “Do you feel...different?”

“No,” Xander said. “It was just… unpleasant.”

“It must mean we’re getting closer,” Dorian said. “I think I see the bottom.”

“You know not all dwarves are overly fond of caves, right?” Varric grumbled. 

“Yes, Varric, you’ve made your opinions on caves quite clear,” Xander returned. He suddenly felt cranky—that aforementioned goose was probably paying respects at his hypothetical headstone, because an ice cold feeling that had nothing to do with stray wisps settled deep into his gut. He peered into the back of the cave, feeling like he was seeing… something. There was a wrought-iron sconce on the wall; Xander beckoned in Dorian’s general direction. “Could you light that?”

“Such a slave driver,” Dorian quipped, though he did raise a handful of fire to the sconce. The little alcove was bathed in the warm light, which was at odds with its contents. “ _Kaffas_ , they—”

“All drowned,” Brinn intoned gravely. “Maker’s mercy, there were people _living_ down here?”

“Seems the Darkspawn didn’t much care for collateral damage,” Xander murmured. He stood over a large figure—all bones now, the flesh worn away with time—curling protectively around a too-small skeleton. Groups of three or four were clutched together, a few, the poor sods, were gathered in the back corners, like they’d drowned trying to escape. 

“Damnit,” Brinn growled, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. 

“It’s not your fault, _amor_ ,” Zevran assured evenly. 

“I know,” Brinn answered. “It’s just… it’s hard to see evidence of my failures when they’re right in front of me. I was _so fucking focused_ on the big treaties and massive armies, I sometimes forgot there were people just trying to live through the Blight. I should have been there for them, too.”

Zevran took her face in both his hands, forcing her to look at him. “None of that, hm? You did everything you could for them. You are only one woman, and yet you did stop the Blight and save countless others. This is _not your fault._ ”

“I _know_ ,” Brinn rasped, leaning into his touch. “I know.”

“Didn’t the mayor say the dam controls were broken?” Alyx suddenly pointed out. “Well, we know that’s a lie now. Not to mention he seemed rather annoyed we were even considering draining the lake, given that we’re trying to save his village and all.”

“Alyx, are you suggesting—” Xander began, his eyes widening hugely at the thought. 

“See, this is what I love about authority,” Alyx interrupted flippantly. “They _always_ know what’s best, no matter who gets caught in the crossfire.”

Xander raked his hand through his dirty hair; now even _Darkspawn_ attacks weren’t what they seemed… Maker’s mercy, what was this world coming to; “Well, let’s not condemn him when we don’t have the whole story. We’ll interrogate the mayor when we’re done here.”

Alyx shrugged before peering over her shoulder; “There’s still a ways to go, yet. I suggest we move on. I, for one, will be glad to be out of here, even if it is still raining above ground.”

“I agree,” Xander grumbled. 

They picked their way along the treacherously slippery wooden path, the slick limestone walls offering little in the way of hand holds. Xander tested every step—Alyx wasn’t wrong. Despite being able to glimpse the bottom from his standpoint, it was still a terrifyingly long ways away. What was worse was the startling number of gaps that even his impossibly long stride couldn’t bridge. 

_Oh, fuck me!_

“I’d rather not, Inquisitor,” Alyx quipped. “You are my cousin after all.”

“He’s a bit tall for my taste,” Varric added. 

_And I said it out loud. Wonderful._

“I’m going to test the path on the other side,” Xander grumbled. It wasn’t a huge gap—maybe a little hop at best—but he knew for a fact it was a stupid move once his boots came in contact with the rotted wood. With a terrifying groan and a deafening shriek, the world gave out from under him and he plummeted. 

After what felt like too many heartbeats, his back crashed into the floor. All his breath went out of his lungs, and the edges of his vision tunneled. He panicked for a moment when he couldn’t seem to remember how to draw breath, and he absolutely tasted blood. He blinked a few times and eventually, the ringing in his ears subsided enough for him to hear a murmur of voices above his head. A perfect ring of heads poked around the jagged hole he’d just fallen through. _Maker’s tears,_ but it was far. 

“Inquisitor!” One of the voices—Dorian, it sounded like—shouted. “ _Inquisitor,_ are you alright?”

“Just a bit banged up,” Xander huffed back. Every inch of him hurt, but his armor had thankfully absorbed much of the damage, sparing him from the worst of it. Harritt would be furious at the state of it, but it still appeared functional. “Just be careful. It’s not that far.”

He saw Alyx reel back before taking a daring, cat-like leap over the jagged gap. She was luckier than him, as the wood didn’t even creak under her weight. He half-expected a joke at the expense of his size, but thankfully, none ever came. The party was safely scurrying down to him, which gave him opportunity to try and get the feel for his surroundings. Unfortunately, even the dimness of the sconces had done little for his night vision, so he couldn’t penetrate the shadows enough to make out details. It was only vague shapes against utter blackness, and Xander had to take a deep breath—he had to remind himself that he was okay. The darkness wasn’t creeping; nothing was grabbing or grasping for him. As far as he knew, he was alone. 

His fingertips felt numb, so he shook out his hands to return some of the feeling. At this simple action, the mark flared, bathing the chamber briefly in sickly green light. Xander considered his palm for a moment before shrugging. 

“Alright, you,” he muttered. “Time to earn your keep.”

He shook his hand again, and he felt the Mark pulse to life, drawing on something deep within him. He shuddered—it wasn’t exactly painful, but he felt like he was being drained of something vital. Still, the light of the Mark flickered along slick, rocky walls and uneven floors. Xander shrugged and made his way forward, vowing to never tell anyone he talked to the Mark. He was unhinged enough as it was. 

Soon, he could see the faint glow of a hearth ahead, but it was steady and stable—so it wasn’t a fire. He could also hear voices. He rolled his eyes; he would have to talk to his companions about stealth operations sometime. 

“Inquisitor?” Dorian called. “Are you alive down here?”

“I’m here,” Xander called, letting the Mark flicker out. “No need to shout; it hasn’t been that long since we separated.”

“Given the way your life has gone over the past couple months, I wouldn’t discount a griffon mauling you in that time frame,” Alyx quipped. 

“Are you hurt?” Dorian asked insistently. “Do you need—”

“I’m fine,” Xander assured with an easy wave of his arm, though of course his traitor body decided to rebel in that moment. Something pinched or twisted wrong and a sharp pain ran up his dominant arm into his shoulder, radiating out to his chest. He hissed and clutched the spot, nearly doubling over. 

“Yes, you certainly seem that way,” Dorian replied dryly. “Here, let me.”

Xander saw Dorian’s hand shimmer with the faint blue-silver of healing magic. Xander near froze—he remembered the last time Dorian had healed him in Redcliffe. He remembered the soft hands gently coaxing his wounds closed and the deep tendrils of magic working their way into his muscles like a lover’s touch. It was so... _intimate_ for something that should be so clinical, and he couldn’t… he _wouldn’t_ let himself feel that way around Dorian. He was a _friend_ , for Maker’s sake…

Dorian’s hand rested on Xander’s shoulder, and he flinched away from the touch. Dorian pursed his lips in naked disapproval, and Xander tried to ignore the genuine hurt in the other man’s eyes. 

“Now, really, Inquisitor,” Dorian chastised. “There is no need for that. You can’t _catch_ being Tevinter, I assure you.”

“No,” Xander murmured, flushing scarlet. “It’s… it’s not like that. I’m sorry.”

“Well, then, what is it like?” Dorian pressed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Is it because I haven’t bathed since we left Skyhold, because I must remind you that _that_ was your doing.”

“No,” Xander grumbled. “I’m sorry. It’s… it’s nothing.”

“Do we have a problem, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked. 

“Of course not,” Xander replied, raking his hands through his hair. “Just… I’m sorry, alright? It’s nothing personal or against you, so _please_ drop it!”

“Oh, just kiss already and let’s move on,” Alyx snapped. “You two can have your lovers’ spat _after_ the rift is closed.”

Xander made a strangled noise under his breath, and Dorian used his temporary distraction to swoop in and pour healing energy into his shoulder. Xander tried his damndest not to lean into the touch, but the hot/cold, tingly thrum of Dorian’s magic made him a bit weak in the knees. Dorian braced Xander’s weight with a surprisingly strong hand against his chest. 

“My goodness, Inquisitor,” he sighed with a chuckle and a disapproving click of his tongue. “Broken ribs? Torn tendons? Partially dislocated shoulder? So much for ‘fine.’”

“I’m sorry,” Xander murmured, and it came out embarrassingly like a moan. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Dorian returned quietly. Xander shuddered when his breath ghosted over the juncture of his neck and shoulders. Completely by accident, of course. “Just… don’t be so reckless. We need you in as few pieces as possible to close rifts, after all.”

When Xander could once again move his shoulder, he gently (though reluctantly) extricated himself from Dorian’s grasp. He felt like such a fucking fool, and he couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes; “We should… we should move on.”

“I agree,” Varric muttered. “The less time spent underground, the better.”

The quality of cave changed rapidly, from the dingy limestone shaft to a cavernous hall. The clean, square lines of the architecture pointed to Dwarven craftsmanship, and the strange lanterns they built still glowed with warm, fiery light. 

“It’s still lit,” Dorian breathed, his eyes wide. “ _Amazing_.”

Xander would have responded in some way, but movement ahead caught his eye; a rage demon skulked at the end of the corridor, disappearing around a corner. He held up his hand for silence, and all chatter ceased. Xander turned to Alyx, who nodded sharply, drawing her spirit blade from her belt. With barely a word, the terrifying weapon flickered to life, and she laid into the demon with reckless abandon. Xander tried to keep up with her, his greatsword weaving in and out of the creature’s defenses, but it was a being of pure fire. Not for the first time, he missed Iris. She would know what to do… maybe.

Alyx seemed to have things well in hand; her hands crackled with lightning that ran up and down her arms, jumping over the rivets in her sleeves. Xander felt his hair stand on end, and he took an exaggerated step backwards. Alyx’s weapon flickered out, slicing through the creature with ease. The demon roared in pain, doubling over. Alyx pressed her advantage, her lithe steps carrying her around the demon’s flank where she would, ostensibly, deliver the killing blow. 

Sadly, in her effort to finish the thing off quickly, she missed it growing at least two or three times its original size. It towered over her now, and the heat of it was almost unbearable. With a roar, it gathered a palmful of fire. Despite Alyx’s superior speed, she caught most of it on her arm. Her oiled vest went up like dry tinder and she screamed—in terror, pain or rage, Xander couldn’t say—but by Andraste’s grace or sheer dumb luck, a shimmering barrier erupted into place. It gave Alyx enough presence of mind to summon a lightning strike powerful enough to decimate the demon in a single strike. 

“Alyx, are you alright?” Xander asked, coughing around the acrid smoke left in the rage demon’s wake. 

“I’m fine,” she groaned, her hand pressed against her face. “Just a little bit singed, is all.”

“Here, let me,” Dorian insisted, grabbing the girl’s arm and inspecting all affected skin closely. The side of her face was shiny and pink, and one of her eyebrows was about half gone. But, it seemed, she would be fine. Dorian began the process of healing her face. “You know, I think Emma might be right.”

“That I’m insane?” Alyx shot back, and grinned. “Because that’s not exactly a new development.”

“No,” Dorian chastised. “That your barrier needs work.”

“I didn’t put up a barrier,” Alyx countered. 

“Exactly,” he replied. “Imagine what would have happened had I not been here?”

“I’d have had to come up with a new hairstyle?” She asked flippantly. 

“That’s the least of it,” he exclaimed. “You almost lost worse than half your eyebrow.”

“But I didn’t,” Alyx riposted. 

“I swear, you Trevelyans are a healer’s worst nightmare,” Dorian sighed. “I hope everyone at Skyhold is keeping up with the other ones, because you two are impossible.”

Xander rolled his eyes before turning down the short corridor. He could see the rift flickering over still water; “Looks like we made it, though. Take a moment, Dorian, and we’ll get this taken care of. Then, we go back to Skyhold. I _promise_.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Brinn interjected. 

~~~

Sadly, any sort of strategic plan they might have had fell apart on first contact with the enemy… like most of Xander’s plans. Demons poured out of the rift in wave after wave, and each one was stronger than the last. Terrors erupted from the ground, despair demons froze his limbs in place, rage demons raked across his chest… it was like a nightmare. Xander could feel himself slowing. The Mark was aching like no other. But still, he fought on. He heard someone cry out in pain, and he whirled. Brinn was clutching her side; dark blood pooled between her fingers. _So much blood_. 

She froze. She was so still it was unnerving and, without a warning, she collapsed to the ground. Her limbs shook as her whole body curled on itself. Xander figured she hadn’t been hit that hard, but he still tried to wade through the demons to get to her. He was surrounded on all sides, though. He barely managed to keep their enemies off his companions, Dorian tucked safely between him and a corner. He glanced around for Zevran, but the elf was already dancing across the battlefield. 

The man was a whirl of daggers and death—blood and ichor flew around him. He was silent as the grave, ice in his eyes and his face set in a hard mask as he drove his wicked knives into his foes. He took a significant blow to the chest—a rage demon’s rake across his cuirass that left him reeling—but he simply rolled with the attack, heedless of the blood now running down his front. Once the path was clear, he gathered Brinn into his arms, softening instantly, muttering something in her ear that seemed to calm her. He brushed his thumb on her lower lip; his forehead was nuzzling against hers. The rigidity in Brinn’s limbs seemed to fade. 

As Xander closed the rift, he instantly felt pity for any man who stood between Zevran Arainai and his lady love.

~~~

When they finally made it back to the town, Alyx was more than happy to break into the Mayor’s home. Xander had to be upset—the weather just made it worse. For the first time in days, it was cheerfully sunny despite his feelings. He glared at the shakily-written confession, his hands physically shaking with rage. 

“Gone,” Alyx murmured, handing him the parchment. 

“Sodding bastard,” Varric spat. 

“We’ll find him, you two,” Xander said, crushing the mayor’s confession in his hand. “I’ll make sure of it.”

~~~

Emma suddenly found Skyhold far and away too small, considering she was desperately trying to convince herself she was avoiding Sebastian Vael. 

No one could convince her that Sebastian wasn’t a Prince—he certainly _looked_ the part. It was a vast understatement to call him a handsome man; ‘handsome’ didn’t do credit to the warm blue eyes set in golden skin, or the sweep of auburn hair from a noble brow, or the sharp cut of his strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. The first thing Emma had noticed, however, was the slight bump in an otherwise straight nose; she idly wondered how he’d broken it. Either way, the marginal imperfection begged for the brush of fingers… or lips. She felt herself heat at the mere _memory_ of the thought. Shameful… he was a Void-taken _Prince_ , and a stranger no less, and she was fantasizing about kissing his nose. 

But more than his nose (and it was a marvelous one) were his _lips_. She’d instantly regretted looking at the perfect, sinuous bow of the upper lip, or the flawlessly full pout of the lower that _begged_ for the score of teeth. All hope of any sort of filter had gone out the window when she saw that beautiful mouth draw up into a smile—all straight white teeth against that gorgeous, golden brown skin. The way he said words like “mercy” and “Inquisitor” and “Iris” made her _vehemently jealous_ that she didn’t have an ‘R’ in her name. She couldn’t get over him. She couldn’t stop thinking about him!

And that didn’t even factor into the way he moved—he strode with purpose, grace, and a hint of something darker… stealthy, almost. He _moved_ like an archer, and judging by the recurve bow he’d carried in those _hands_ (perfect hands) he was absolutely an archer. She couldn’t even begin to guess at his draw weight, with shoulders like those, but she thought awful things about him. Sinful. Evil. 

The curls of heat—of _lust_ —were often drowned out by guilt. She’d made a vow to herself—she would never love again. She clutched Ulrich’s pendant in her hand. She’d left it in her chambers that day; she couldn’t bear the thought of it being lost in the shuffle of the training yard. Ulrich _promised_ —he swore—that he would return for his amulet. And he was gone—she would return it to him when they reunited at the Maker’s side. 

_It is a betrayal—Ulrich was all there ever was, and all there ever will be. And he is gone. It’s better to be alone._

And yet, she was hyper aware of the Prince, and he seemed at least interested in the work she did. He’d spent the past two or three days observing her training exercises and plying her and the Commander with question after question about their technique. He’d even offered to help her mages work on their barriers by peppering them with arrows from the ramparts. Emma had giggled at the prospect, and his eyes had brightened so much at the sound it stole her breath and flushed her face with warmth. 

It was late in the afternoon, and after days of rain, the late spring sunshine was so pleasant… she could no longer resist its call. She donned a simple, lavender dress (Josephine had thrown the _ugliest_ of fits and tripled Emma’s wardrobe when she’d found out how Sebastian had been… received) and took her reports to the gazebo in Skyhold’s gardens. It still had some work to be done, but the sweet smell of crystal grace and dawn lotus permeated the air. It made the place feel homey. Like she could relax. 

She’d expected a crowd, if she was being honest, but the gardens were largely deserted. She supposed a large portion were taking advantage of their newly-cleared courtyard, or at the Herald’s Rest. She wouldn’t complain—the quiet reminded her of the Circle. It reminded her of home. She set her goblet of chilled wine on the bench next to her and spread her reports over her lap, preparing to enjoy the solitude, when quiet was interrupted. A soft, deep voice was raised in prayer, that familiar Starkhaven brogue setting her blood aflame. 

_Sebastian._

Spitting in the face of good sense, she set her reports to the side, gathering her goblet, and went to the small chapel they’d found. It was dreadfully simple, though Emma liked it. The statue of Andraste had her arms out in welcome, a few candles were lit at her feet, and the tall, clear windows let in so much sunshine. Despite its shabby appearance, she’d never felt more welcome in a Chantry than in Skyhold. And there was Sebastian, kneeling at the base of the statue, reciting a prayer she knew well. His voice was low, just for himself… but earnest. She suddenly felt like a voyeur; this was a private moment between him and the Maker, and she felt awful for intruding. 

~~~

It was _shameful_ how aware he was of her presence. It went beyond her shuffling footsteps—likely from living her formative years in long, heavy robes—or the sound of her breath. He _knew_ it was her. He knew she was there; he didn’t know if it was her scent or if he was just that attuned to her after a mere three days at Skyhold. 

“You don’t have to leave,” he said softly, sensing her hesitation. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” she replied, equally soft. 

“You’re not intruding,” he assured. “I promise. I was just finishing up, if you are looking to pray.”

“I was actually coming to the garden to get some fresh air and some work done,” she said. He could suddenly sense her at his back—the spicy Antivan soap she used permeating his senses. He keenly remembered the smell of her sweat on her milk-pale skin. “I wasn’t expecting it to be empty. I can leave you to your solitude.”

“I spent fifteen years in solitude,” Sebastian admitted, finally looking up at her. He felt his breath catch—when he’d met her, she’d been barely dressed, drenched in sweat and flushed with exertion. The effect of the lavender sundress and her thick, unbound curls was almost _intoxicating_. “I’ve had quite my fill of it.”

“Fifteen years?” Emma sank to her knees beside him, folding her hands demurely in her lap. They were close enough that a bare shift of his leg would press their thighs together, and the temptation was almost too much. “Why?”

Curiosity was nothing new to him—how did a Brother of the Faith end up the Prince of Starkhaven? It was an interesting story to someone who hadn’t lived it; “I was put in the Chantry to prevent my competing with my brothers.”

“Excuse me?” Emma asked, incredulousness coloring her tone. He could sense her stiffening next to him, and when he dared a look, her pale blue eyes were hard as crystals. “What in the _Void_ is that supposed to mean?”

“My parents were… rather traditional,” Sebastian explained. “I was the youngest of three—they had their heir and their spare. I was… sort of leftover.”

Emma made a disgusted noise under her breath, and he felt a defensive instinct curl in his chest. He prepared to dig in for an argument before she drew in a long sigh; “I know how that feels. Sort of. My sister became the heir to my family’s line when my oldest brother went into the Templars. I had to give everything up when I my magic manifested. I can’t imagine Mother and Father doing something like _that_ though.”

“The Vaels traditionally put at least one child in the Chantry,” Sebastian retorted, perhaps a touch more sharply than he intended. “My brother, Connal, wanted to be the one. He was always… the quiet sort. Liked his books. Frankly, the Chantry was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was… a bit of a wild boy.”

“Your brother, Connal,” Emma asked softly. “What happened to him?”

“Why do you assume—” Sebastian began around a choked sound in his throat.

“The way you speak of him,” Emma answered. “It sounds as if something… I apologize. I really shouldn’t pry.”

“Don’t apologize, Emma,” he murmured, feeling a sinful little thrill when she shuddered visibly at the sound of her name. “I appreciate your concern. You said your brother was a member of the Templar order? I haven’t seen—”

“He was an officer,” Emma said bitterly. “A Knight-Commander, which means… which means he’s most likely dead. One of the monsters I had to kill in Therinfal...or under Corypheus’s control.”

She let the statement hang between them; Sebastian’s chest drew tight. He remembered how much it hurt to hear of Connal and Lachlan, despite their poor relationship. He regretted their deaths, but at least he _knew_ for sure. He was certain their lives had not been ended by his hand. He knew they died themselves—human. “I’m sorry for your loss, Emma. It seems we have something in common... Pray with me?”

“I don’t sing the Chant as I should,” she admitted. She did extend her hand, though, slipping her fingers into his. “But I will kneel with you.”

Their hands slotted so well together; as horrible as it was, as much as a part of him was sickened that he had such thoughts at the base of Andraste’s feet, the Chant was long forgotten. Her fingers were warm and delicate, but had swordsman’s calluses on them, which was odd. Wasn’t she a mage? He found himself staring at her smiling, expectant face for too long. She was so beautiful, and she was there kneeling on the floor with him in silent support. He found himself at a loss for what to say. 

Thankfully, his musings were interrupted by the sound of the signalling horn; the Inquisitor had returned. 


	23. Chapter 23

When Xander approached the drawbridge, he wasn’t exactly shocked to see Hawke and Fenris waiting outside for them. He shot them a sardonic grin that he would later learn was decidedly Hawke-like; “You know, you two could have actually _entered_ Skyhold, right?”

“We figured it was prudent to wait for its leader,” Hawke replied flippantly. 

“Also, she got us lost and we only just got here,” Fenris interrupted with a smirk. 

“Hey!” Hawke exclaimed, trying to jab Fenris in the ribs. He deftly dodged the strike, but he did put his arm around her shoulder to steady her when she overbalanced. “It sounded better in my version. Us _camping_ outside Skyhold, eternally _waiting_ for the Inquisitor, not knowing if he’ll return and I’ll have to take up the mantle and play heroics all over again.”

“Hawke, how many times have I told you to leave the storytelling to me?” Varric chuckled. 

Xander rolled his eyes, feeling slightly lighter than he did a few days before. He was back home (or as home as the massive keep could ever feel) and he knew a decent, hot bath was a mere few moments away. He indicated the open gateway with a nonchalant arm; “Shall we?”

“Wait, where’s Brinn?” Hawke asked.

“We parted ways a few days ago,” Xander explained. “Said something about ‘wanting to stretch their sneaking muscles without the threat of imminent death’.”

Hawke snorted inelegantly; “Yeah, that sounds like them. Alright, then. Lead the way.”

Xander was flabbergasted by how much had changed. Scaffolding was up in a lot of parts, a fully-functional training ring had gone up, and most of the grounds had been cleaned and groomed. Banners with the Inquisition sigil flapped in the wind, but the heraldry hanging from strategic points around the walls were definitely Trevelyan—the rearing horse was unmistakable. The stained glass windows had been replaced and now reflected a bit of Orlesian influence. Once they were in the throne room proper, though most of it was still under construction, he saw pieces taken from Ferelden and even Tevinter backgrounds. Templar and Circle of Magi flags hung side by side. 

“Impressive,” Hawke complimented. 

“It shows the Inquisition is for all,” Fenris mused. “An inspiring message, I must say.”

“I’ll have to remember to compliment Josephine,” Xander said with an approving nod. “She’s certainly gone all out. You two can catch up with—”

“Hawke?” A rough voice he didn’t recognize (with a distinctive Starkhaven accent, no less) interrupted him. 

Hawke whirled towards the door to the garden; Emma stood next to vaguely familiar figure. Xander couldn’t place the face, but Hawke, Fenris and Varric all seemed to recognize him—Fenris adopted a slightly soft, familiar smile; Varric schooled his face into careful impassivity; Hawke just squealed. 

“ _Sebastian!”_ She launched herself at him with abandon, throwing her arms around his neck. Xander feared the man may go toppling to the stones, but he seemed prepared and swept Hawke right off her feet. “I can’t believe it! When did you get here?”

“Not that long ago,” the man named Sebastian answered. “I wasn’t expecting you; I haven’t seen you since… well, since Kirkwall.”

“It was safer this way,” Hawke replied. 

“This is Hawke’s very diplomatic way of saying we feared what the Divine might do if we’d stayed in Kirkwall,” Fenris interjected. 

Sebastian chuckled dryly; “It’s good to see you too, Fenris.”

“It _really_ is, though,” Hawke replied. “Good to see you, I mean. I _did_ miss you.”

“So, Choir Boy,” Varric finally piped in. “Are you _finally_ getting some in that fancy castle of yours? Is that why you’ve loosened up a bit?”

Xander saw the look on Sebastian’s face; he didn’t visibly flush, but he was incredibly uncomfortable. Xander took in the blue eyes, the auburn hair, the accent… his name was Sebastian and _Oh, Maker_ , a castle was mentioned. 

_Fuck, he’s the Prince of Starkhaven!_

“Your Highness, please forgive Varric,” Xander interjected with a short, respectful bow at the waist and a pointed glare at the dwarf. “It’s been a long trip.”

“I am quite used to Varric’s… particular brand of wit,” Sebastian answered smoothly. “Although that seemed a bit more up Isabela’s alley. You must be the Inquisitor; and judging by the use of my title, you’re aware I am Sebastian Vael.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Xander replied. “Alexander Trevelyan, although you may call me Xander. It’s what I prefer.”

“Well then, Xander,” Sebastian said with an easy smile. “It is a pleasure. I must say, your Inquisition has been quite accommodating. I am impressed.”

“It seems the Prince will be staying with us for the foreseeable future,” Emma input, stepping around him towards Xander. “And you’re a mess, Xander. I take it you will be bathing before we convene for your report?”

“If you don’t mind,” Xander quipped, ruffling Emma’s hair. He never really saw it down… for that matter, he never saw her outside her armor. He shot her an arched brow, turning to introduce her, but Hawke interrupted. 

“Sebastian? Who… who is she?” Hawke’s eyes flickered knowingly between Sebastian and Emma. Fenris crossed his arm with a fond grin. 

“Oh, my apologies,” Xander said. “This is Emma Trevelyan; she’s the Inquisition’s Battlemaster. Emma, this is—”

“I know who they are,” Emma interrupted frostily. “Marian Hawke and Fenris. You’re… quite infamous.”

Fenris glowered at Emma’s tone, while Hawke sort of… balked. Xander was completely taken aback—he’d never know Emma to be openly hostile with _anyone_ who hadn’t pushed her buttons first. Xander opened his mouth to say something, but Emma bowled over any possible reaction. 

“You should see that Iris is informed of our guests’ arrival; she will make sure Hawke and Fenris have suitable living quarters,” she said. “I assume they are going to be helping with War Table operations; I will inform the Commander. Please send a runner when you are ready to convene?”

“Um,” Xander opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish a few times, unsure how to react. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I”m exhausted.”

“That seems acceptable,” Emma muttered coolly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Well it’s always refreshing to meet someone who already knows who you are,” Hawke said with forced joviality.

“I’ve never seen Snowflake act like that before,” Varric murmured. “Wonder what’s eating her.”

“Oh you know—apostate aiding and abetting the destruction of a Circle, fleeing with her elven lover, sparing the life of a dangerous criminal. The list goes on; pick one and I’m sure you will find someone who has a problem with it,” she said, gesturing with a wave of her hand. Fenris said nothing, but placed a comforting hand on her shoulder—a subtle gesture, but one she obviously took a great deal of happiness from, given the light smile on her face.

“Perhaps we should find Iris so that she may…” Xander was cut off by a shrill squeak from the doorway that led to Josephine’s office. Within seconds he was bowled into and were it not for the sheer size difference between him and his sister she may very well have knocked the wind out of him.

“You’re back!” She exclaimed, hugging him. He blushed at the light chuckle that Varric didn’t even bother to hide. Hawke and Fenris both fixed him with bemused smiles and Sebastian merely shook his head.

“Iris, we have guests, allow me to introduce you to Marian Hawke and Fenris.”

Iris fixed him with a wide eyed look and turned slowly to face the pair; Xander tried not to laugh lest he make the situation even more awkward. She straightened her back and adopted a more regal stance before addressing them.

“Welcome to Skyhold; I am Iris Trevelyan, Envoy of the Inquisition. We are so honored to have you here.”

“Another Trevelyan?” Fenris asked in disbelief.

“We are a large family,” Xander explained. “Alyx and Emma are my cousins. Iris is my sister.”

“All of them mages,” Hawke noted.

“At least one in every family it seems,” he replied. 

“To be honest, this is good behavior for Firefly,” Varric said. “Here’s an _actual_ hero from an actual book—”

“One that you wrote,” Fenris interrupted.

“And she’s being very professional,” Varric continued. “Seriously. I expected more squealing.”

“Thank you for the shining endorsement Varric,” Iris replied dryly. “If you will follow me I will be more than happy to find you a room so that you may settle in.”

“Aww, she’s adorable, Fen!” Hawke exclaimed with exaggerated brightness in her eyes. “Can we _keep her_?”

“You hear that, Iris?” Alyx added with a barely-concealed laugh. “You’ve been upgraded to Mabari status!”

“Keep laughing and next time you’re out and about your coattails might catch fire,” Dorian said with a chortle.

“Don’t give her ideas, she did try to roast Curly after all,” Varric said clutching his stomach in laughter.

“Curly? Who’s Curly?” Fenris asked.

“The one and only Knight Captain of Kirkwall himself.”

“You tried to roast Cullen?” Hawke asked Iris with mirth in her voice.

“Roast isn’t the word I would use,” Iris answered.

“Roast implies onions and potatoes were involved,” Alyx quipped quietly.

“I cornered him in a mountain pass and threatened him with a very large fireball,” Iris stated matter of factly, ignoring Alyx’s smart comment.

“Well then Iris, something tells me you and I will get along just fine. If you will, please show my husband and I to our room. If we walk slow enough I’ll tell you about the time I almost set fire to half of Lowtown.”

“You almost set Lowtown on fire? But...that wasn't in the book!” Iris replied in disbelief as they walked away.

“Consider this a golden opportunity to hear the stuff Varric didn't think anyone would believe if he actually put it in print,” Hawke replied conspiratorially. 

“Maker’s breath, at least make sure she comes up for food and water, Hawke,” Xander called after them.

~~~

Iris was beside herself with excitement. She was walking with the real Champion, in the flesh. She had a million questions and did her best to only ask about half of them. As they neared the door to the chamber she had picked out for them she finally mustered up the courage to ask about her favorite part.

“So, I know everyone talks about the Arishok battle, and the Deep Roads, all the glories of battle. But for me at least, my favorite part of your story was about the two of you,” Iris said quietly trying not to blush. “You and Fenris, I mean.”

“Really? Most of the time people like to skirt over those parts, what with him being an elf,” Hawke stated pointedly.

“Oh but that’s what makes it so wonderful,” Iris gushed. “It’s a love story like no other, and just seeing both of you together after all that. Who could possibly think that there could be anything wrong with it? At the Gallows, that final moment, was Varric telling the truth? Did he really kiss you right there in front of everyone?”

Hawke laughed and Fenris did his best not to blush. He muttered under his breath about making the dwarf a head shorter.

“Yes he really did kiss me in front of everyone. Best time for a kiss is right before battle.”

“And the line right before; _‘nothing is going to keep me from you?’_ Was that part real too?”

“It was, and I have proven it time and time again,” Fenris said, gazing at Hawke with a look that spoke of pure adoration.

Iris felt fluttery in the very best way; she would give her left arm to be able to sit and interrogate Hawke until the end of time, but sadly, she had duties to return to. It was nice, seeing that they were so preciously earnest together. She wouldn’t admit it on the pain of death, but the story of Marian Hawke and Fenris had sort of set the bar pretty high for her, as far as love was concerned. It made her _believe_ that love could exist, even in the darkest of places… at least, if one knew where to look. 

Iris showed them to a modest suite—nowhere _near_ the size of her brother’s, but close enough—and waved them in; “You should have everything you need. I’ll have a bath sent up and drawn for you. Please, make yourselves at home. If there is _anything_ you need—anything at all—please, do not hesitate to ask!”

“As long as I can scrape off the remains of Fereldan rains in the near future, I’m sure I will be set,” Hawke sighed gratefully. 

“Please inform us when the Inquisitor convenes the War Table?” Fenris asked politely, tugging the leather tie that kept his long tail in place. 

“Of course,” Iris replied. “I’ll come fetch you personally.”

“How much good would it do if I told you that wasn’t necessary?” Fenris asked sardonically, and Iris was not prepared for the effect of his sense of humor.

“Um…” she responded. “Not much?”

Fenris chuckled; “That’s what I thought. We’ll see you soon.”

Iris tried her best to contain her giggling—she really did. All she needed was the Hero of Ferelden and all her dreams would come true in that moment. 

~~~

“Alyx, you’re not focusing on your barrier!” Emma shouted. Again. It was getting on her nerves. “You’re letting it dissipate, and your mana can’t handle summoning a new one right away!”

“You know,” Alyx growled, palming the sweat from her eyes. “This duty lieutenant act is starting to get old, Princess.”

“Good. Anger,” Emma said. “ _Use it!_ Again!”

Alyx went through the form again, scrambling to keep a hold on the barrier, but she felt it slip like water through a cupped palm. Emma’s sword crashed through and rapped against her side. It wouldn’t do permanent damage, but it hurt like a _bitch._

“Focus,” Emma repeated. “ _Again_.”

“You’re starting to sound like Bull,” Alyx jibed, swinging her sword at Emma. She snarled with barely-suppressed rage when it licked harmlessly against her barrier. 

“And look at the quality of his men,” Emma quipped with a quirked brow. “So he must be doing something right. _Again_.”

“Maybe we should just go toe-to-toe,” Alyx gasped. She was winded; she’d never attempted to hold a barrier for this long. Defense wasn’t exactly her strong suit. On the run, she’d used evasion and stealth to come out of fights mostly unscathed, but she supposed Emma had a point that a barrier was a must for the larger battles they faced with the Inquisition. “I seem to do better that way.”

“You’re not ready for me at combat strength,” Emma rejoined, her blue eyes impassive. 

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Alyx snapped. 

“It means you don’t have the barrier strength of an apprentice,” Emma snapped back. “You use a spirit blade; like it or not, that means you _have_ to learn Knight Enchanter techniques if you’re going to survive, and _that_ means you absolutely _have_ to be able to maintain a barrier! So do. It. _Again_.”

Alyx fumed, but refused to give Emma the satisfaction. “Aww, is the Princess scared to fight me?” she taunted, turning her hilt in her fingers. “Afraid your fancy Templar training won’t be enough to match my raw talent?”

“You’re funny,” Emma scoffed, though Alyx did notice her fingers tighten on her hilt. “Believe me, I’m doing you a favor, here. Now do the form, Alyx—I won’t ask again.”

Alyx growled in frustration, but summoned her barrier once more, dropping into a ready stance to repeat the form. This time, she managed to get inside Emma’s guard so she could swing; Emma recoiled from the strike. Alyx pressed, dropping form for a moment and executing a feint she’d seen a duelist perform once. She swung again, though Emma had shored her barrier once more, so she took the hit and swung, catching Alyx across the chest. She held onto the fraying vestiges of the spell just long enough to defend against the sword swing. 

“Better,” Emma said with a grin. “Though that was an interesting little maneuver you pulled there—exactly what kind of Knight Enchanter are you?”

Alyx grinned. “ _Not_ a Knight Enchanter. Too many rules, you know. I do what I want.”

Emma snickered under her breath; “Is that so? Tell me Alyx, how have you survived all these years? I’ve seen the way you fight.”

“I _do_ actually know how to not get myself killed,” Alyx said, rolling her eyes. “Barriers aren’t the only way to avoid enemy blades.”

Emma waggled her eyebrows, her cheeks pulling back in a cat-like grin; “You say that because you suck at them.”

“I also say that because it’s _true,_ ” Alyx said. “After all, I’m still kicking, right?”

Emma shrugged; “Barely. Although you do have nice souvenir from the Templar fist fight, so there’s an upside at least. Either way, I think we can move on. Forget the barriers for a moment, and I’ll show you some other fun stuff the Knight Enchanter can do. Who knows—maybe you’ll find the rules are worth it.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Alyx cried. “We can do this the _right_ way.”

“Oh, don’t get too cocky, _recruit_ ,” Emma countered, though her sardonic grin showed mirth and not mocking. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Alyx rolled her eyes, but she felt a rush of adrenaline. She pushed her mana through her hilt and dashed forward, swinging through where Emma’s chest had been just a second before. But with a rush of cold wind and a deafening sound almost like thunder, she was clear on the other side of the ring, looking nonchalant. Alyx decided she hated that smug expression on Emma’s face.

“I thought you were going to _try_ , at least,” Emma mocked. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Alyx exclaimed. 

“It’s hard to explain,” Emma answered. “I’ll try to… if you can beat me.”

Alyx grinned, brandishing her blade. “You’re on, Princess.”

Emma began to advance on her, and just as Alyx was about to duck to dodge the incoming blow, she caught sight of Iris watching from just outside the ring. Cullen was standing barely a foot behind her, his hands on her arms as he helped guide her into a proper defensive stance. Iris… Iris was _blushing_ , a shy smile on her face. _Shit._ Alyx’s jaw clenched, and— _ow,_ fuck. Emma had landed a solid blow against her shoulder. Alyx winced as she retreated, shaking her arm out and swinging it around to dispel the throbbing pain.

“What was that you were saying about knowing how not to get killed?” Emma asked pointedly.

“Fuck off, I was distracted,” Alyx said, glaring at Cullen from across the ring. She was sorely tempted to charge over there and _get him away from her_ , but she dragged her eyes away from the pair, forcing herself to focus on Emma. There was _no way_ Alyx was going to give her the satisfaction of winning.

Thankfully, her sanctimonious cousin appeared to have a major flaw in her style—there was a slight delay between her taking her stance and an actual swing. It was small enough it was easy to miss, and difficult to take advantage of. She dropped into her form, springing forward and drawing her spirit blade in a fluid motion. Alyx shifted from foot to foot, closing quickly and dancing out of reach of Emma’s swing. She felt the spirit blade crackle next to her skin, the energy raising the hair on the back of her neck, but she dropped into a shoulder roll that put her into an advantageous position. 

Emma was closing again, this time using that dash spell she’d demonstrated at the start. Alyx dropped to the ground, swinging out her legs and catching Emma around the ankles. She tumbled to the grass, but she used her momentum to forward roll and spring back up. 

“Alright, would you pick a fighting style and stick to it?” Emma gasped, rolling her neck slightly. “And at least do it correctly, for Andraste’s sake.”

“What, can’t keep up with me, _Battlemaster?”_

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” Emma replied. Sweat poured off her face and darkened the simple tunic she wore, but still she advanced. Alyx dropped into a ready stance, prepared to block the inevitable swing when she heard _his_ voice. 

“See how Emma has her legs at least shoulder-width?” Cullen instructed. Alyx could see his hands drop to Iris’s hips, his feet kicking her legs apart, and she fumed, once again suppressing the urge to punch him in his smug face. 

“What about Alyx?” Iris asked. 

Cullen chuckled roughly; “Don’t copy Alyx. I’m not entirely sure what technique she’s using, but she’s terrible at it.”

Alyx flipped a very rude gesture in his general direction, still not taking her eyes off Emma. “If I’m _so_ terrible, why don’t you fight me next, _Commander_?” she spat.

“Because you might want some time to recover from this next move,” Cullen snarked. 

Alyx swore her eyes had been following Emma’s movements the whole time, but suddenly she’d dropped out of view. Alyx caught the shimmer in the air a few seconds before it actually happened; a soft chuckle and Emma rematerialized in her space. It didn’t hurt…much, but she was tossed bodily several feet from where she stood. Alyx rolled quickly to the side, getting out of range before she pushed herself back to her feet. Emma was wearing a cocky grin, already dropping into her stance to attack again. 

“Okay, yes, very impressive. I’ll give it a seven point five out of ten,” Alyx said mockingly.

“You should see it when it’s at a ten,” Emma quipped. “Now, have at thee!”

Alyx rolled her eyes—apparently, Iris wasn’t the only one who read cheesy adventure literature. Alyx parried her swing to the side, stepping out of the arc of her weapon. Once Alyx had the feel for Emma’s style, she was able to work with it. Soon, they were dancing around each other, spectral blades flashing in the afternoon sun. They’d drawn a crowd, and judging by the sounds of it, the odds were about even on the victor. Alyx smirked smugly. 

“I must admit,” Emma gasped for breath, her infuriatingly neat tail falling apart around her face. “Your style is… unorthodox, but it is _effective_.”

“Speak up, I couldn’t quite hear you there,” Alyx said, cupping a hand to her ear and grinning.

“Don’t get cocky,” Emma returned with a roll of her eyes. 

Emma hefted her hilt in her hands and she ran at Alyx—not the magic dash she used earlier, which pointed to her being just about out of mana. Alyx quirked her brow knowingly, waiting for that moment when she saw the faint blue shimmer around Emma’s skin dissipate. Emma brought her blade down in a wild, overhand swing; Alyx blocked it at the last moment, placing her hand on Emma’s chest—just below her bust; a non-vital area—and applied a minute amount of lightning magic. Emma made a strangled sound before flying backwards—perhaps not as far as Alyx had flown earlier, though the sight was still satisfying regardless—and landing flat on her back. There was a singed spot on her tunic where Alyx’s hand had been; silence fell over the courtyard while every soul waited for the Battlemaster to move. 

Then… then she _laughed_. 

Alyx had to laugh with her; “ _Barrier,_ Battlemaster.”

“Yes,” Emma groaned, levering herself up. She hissed and clutched the spot where Alyx had hit her. “I deserved that. Well done.”

“You still breathing?” Alyx asked, genuine concern sneaking in around the snark. 

“I’ll live,” Emma replied. “Nothing a bit of Dawn Lotus salve and a night of licking my wounds won’t cure.”

Alyx rolled her eyes, helping Emma to her feet, staunchly ignoring the tiny whimper of pain when she bent the wrong way. She hadn’t meant to hit her _that_ hard… 

“You know, I can fix your spirit blade for you,” Emma stated. “The shards are unstable—that’s what causes the lightning running along the blade. It’s not entirely safe, and it’s an easy fix.”

“What do you mean _fix_ it?” Alyx said, placing her hand almost protectively over its hilt. “It is perfect the way it is, thank you very much!”

“Uh huh,” Emma countered. “So you just made it like that on purpose?”

“Of course. It’s awesome!”

Emma quirked her brow in disbelief; “So you made a dangerously unstable weapon because… what? It looked good?”

“Okay, fine, I didn’t do it on purpose. But it _is_ awesome,” Alyx said, pointing a finger at Emma as though daring her to say otherwise.

“It _is_ ,” Emma replied. “It’s taking a bit more mana than should be required because of the faulty crystals—that’s why there’s lighting… at least that’s my best guess. It’s drawing on your magic. And I’m not sure—it might explode any day now—but if you like it, and you can wield it, then keep it the way it is. But when you lose your eyelashes and eyebrows to the inevitable fallout, I am _not_ helping you fix it!”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve heard all that before. My—well, anyways, _I know._ I know it’s dangerous, but damn if it isn’t effective. Why fight random bandits when you can just scare the pants off them and make them run away?” She grinned.

“That _is_ effective,” Emma said. “Now, I _could_ invite Iris into the ring for her training, but she’s not dressed for it, and I think I’ve had enough of getting my butt kicked for the day.”

~~~

Alyx walked out into the garden, edging around the perimeter to stay mostly out of sight. As she had hoped, Cullen was sitting at the chess table across the small courtyard. Dorian was sitting across from him, and fuck if that wasn’t a friendship Alyx never would have seen coming. Goal in sight, Alyx crossed the courtyard towards the two men, leaning casually against a pillar as if to watch.

“Chamberlain!” Cullen sputtered, eyes going wide. He had jumped halfway out of his chair before Dorian spoke up. 

“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?”

“Sit down, _Commander._ Don’t stop on my account. I’ll take next match,” Alyx said, grinning at him. Slightly too wide, too many teeth.

“Of—of course,” Cullen said, turning back towards the board. “Your move.”

“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better,” Dorian said as he made his move. 

“Really?” Cullen asked as he moved one of his own pieces across the board. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.” He laughed, and Alyx was glad to hear it sounded just a bit forced. Nervous. 

“Don’t get smug. There will be no living with you,” Dorian muttered. “Anyway, how are you, Alyx? Still enjoying the bragging rights after yesterday’s fight?”

“Immensely,” she said with a wide grin. 

“Well, the board is yours. See you at the Rest later on?” Dorian asked.

“Of course,” she said, slipping into his seat as he vacated it. “Prepare the board, Commander.” 

“Right. As you say, Chamberlain.”

Alyx made a noise of disgust at the use of her absurd title. Cullen was very carefully avoiding her gaze as he set the pieces in place, and she took the opportunity to study him. He was handsome enough, she supposed, if that was your sort of thing. His golden hair was much neater than it had ever been in Kirkwall—and much straighter, she noted with some amusement at the idea of him spending the time each morning to perfect it. The stern scowl he’d so favored in Kirkwall was gone too, but she thought the bags under his eyes might be worse. There was something heavy in his eyes, something hidden just beneath the surface. It was a familiar look; she’d caught it in the mirror often enough. 

_Fuck_. She really did not come out here to _sympathize_ with a damn Templar. Former Templar. _Ugh, whatever_.

He looked up then, and she narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. 

“Your move first,” he said, swallowing thickly. She grinned again, revelling in his discomfort. That was the goal here, after all. 

She made her move, and gestured for him to proceed. 

“I assume you didn’t actually come out here for a friendly chess match?” he asked, and she hoped she wasn’t imagining the slight sheen of sweat on his brow. 

“How astute, Commander.” Another grin. More teeth this time. They each made another few moves, and Alyx was immensely glad she was actually decent at chess. This would be much more fun if she could beat him _and_ scare the pants off him. 

“Whatever you’ve come to say, please just say it,” he said. 

“Oh, but watching you squirm is _so_ much more fun.”

“If it’s a complaint about the Templars, you really should take it to the Battlemaster.”

“Yes, you’re _not a Templar anymore,_ I _know._ But no. I’m not here on any Inquisition business, Templar-related or otherwise. This is _personal._ ” She let the grin drop now, pinning him with her most menacing glare (it was a thing of beauty; she really was quite proud of it). 

“There’s no need to look so nervous, Commander,” she added. “I just have a very simple question, and then I’ll be on my way. Well, after I kick your ass at chess, that is.”

“Very well,” he stammered. “What do you want to know?”

She leaned forward slightly, waiting until he stopped avoiding her gaze before she asked: “What are your intentions towards Iris?”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Cut the bullshit. I saw you with her yesterday. You and I both know you were doing more than _correcting her form._ ”

“I—” he spluttered, cheeks turning beet red. 

“Commander,” she said with a deadly smile, voice dripping with faux sweetness, “you know you can tell me anything.” She smiled, appreciating his nervous floundering. 

“I assure you, Chamberlain, my thoughts regarding your cousin are completely proper.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Lies are unbecoming, _Commander_. I know the way you look at her, and no man who looks at a woman like that _hasn’t_ had indecent thoughts about her.”

“Well, yes, she’s very beautiful, but I—”

“And you want to play the big, strong _Templar_ and swoop in to save the poor little mage girl,” Alyx spat.

“ _NO!”_ Cullen shouted, slamming a hand down on the table so hard the chess pieces went flying. “No,” he said more softly, voice sounding almost broken. “I don’t want _anything_ like that, Maker… I care for her. Is that what you want to hear?”

Alyx narrowed her eyes at him. When she began to speak, her voice was deadly calm. “I want you to remember that I was in Kirkwall. I _remember._ I remember every time you supported Meredith, I remember every piece of vitriol you spewed about mages. I know you’ve left the Order. I know you’re trying to change, and I’m trying my best to allow you that chance.”

She paused, letting her words sink in, waiting until she had his utmost attention before she went on. “But if you _ever_ hurt her… If you ever for a _second_ give me reason to doubt you… _Well._ ” She grinned the toothy grin again, letting the air around them crackle with electricity. Cullen paled visibly.

“Understood?” she asked.

Cullen gulped, nodding quickly. “Yes, Chamberlain.”

“Excellent. Glad we could have this little talk. Shame about the chess match,” she said blithely, rising from her seat and looking at the pieces strewn across the ground. “I was _so_ looking forward to beating you.”

She gave him one last appraising look. “Another time, perhaps, Commander?” she suggested, and without waiting for a response she turned and strode back across the courtyard towards the keep.


	24. Chapter 24

While, in Alyx’s opinion, it was far too early for civilised people to be up and about, she had about a million things to do that day, and if she didn’t put a fucking flag in at least one bottle of the mulled wine Cabot made, it would be gone before lunch. So, while the sky was still pale with the early sun, she found herself crossing the almost-empty courtyard towards the Rest. Well, empty save for two souls in the practice ring. The Commander—Cullen—was subtly adjusting Iris’s stance. His hands were… well, they were _more_ than just correcting. She narrowed her eyes, intending to listen in as best she could, when a soft voice made her jump. 

“Alyx, I have a question.”

“Fuck, Cole!” Alyx gasped, clutching her chest. “We need the Inquisitor to… requisition you a bell, or something.”

“I scared you,” he said, looking appropriately contrite. “I’m sorry. But I have a question.”

Alyx sighed. “It’s okay Cole, you just startled me. What can I help you with?”

“It’s about Fir—Iris,” he replied. “Why does she think the Commander’s face is stupid if she likes it?”

“She—what now?”

“She thinks his face is stupid,” Cole repeated. “But she thinks it’s handsome. I thought stupid was bad, but she likes him. _His story is so sad; he’s like a hero from a book. Shining. Gleaming. Golden. I want to know all of him. His scar—_ oh. She doesn’t want me to see that part.” The boy (spirit?) blushed scarlet.

“She… she thinks that?” Alyx said, her voice gone almost quiet.

“All the time,” Cole answered excitedly. “I want to help, but I want to know… why does she think his face is stupid? I don’t understand.”

“That’s just Iris. She calls things stupid when what she actually thinks is the exact opposite.”

“But why?” Cole pressed. “If stupid is bad—I just want to help. This is confusing.”

“She doesn’t want to admit yet what she really thinks,” Alyx said softly. “Thank you, Cole. I think you did help. But… might not always want to go around telling people what others are thinking. Not everyone would take too well to that.”

~~~

“No, now you’re over-extending your shoulders,” Cullen chastised, cupping her forearms with his bare hands. “Just lower them—here—so they protect your core. And don’t lock your knees.”

Iris glowered at the traitor goosebumps raising themselves on her arms; they _absolutely_ weren’t at the warmth of those hands, nor at the sheer size of them ( _Maker, he could encircle my whole arm with just his fingers!)_. It was cold outside. Of course.

“Your stance is stiff,” he added. “Here, let me.”

He stepped behind her, his warmth radiating through his thin shirt. He slid a hand across the plane of her stomach, pulling back until she adjusted the stance of her hips. She shivered when his hand trailed over her wrist and the soft skin of her forearm; he cupped her elbow to adjust her hold of the practice sword. If it weren’t for the professional manner in which he conducted himself—and his perfectly even breathing while she fought not to gasp for air, the bastard—it might have felt like an intimate touch. 

“Perhaps we should begin, Commander. I can’t spend all my time trying to perfect my stance. We’ll never get to the fun part,” Iris said, trying to ignore the way her voice had shot up an octave or two.

To his credit, Cullen chuckled, his breath ghosting over the back of her neck; “If the lady insists.”

She definitely imagined the purr in his voice. Yes. Her imagination was running wild—that’s what one gets for reading so much. One must also learn practical things. Like swordplay. Though, she had to watch him for _pointers_ ; who could blame her for watching as those surprisingly deft fingers twirled the practice sword in an easy, fluid movement. 

“Show off,” she muttered, sticking out her tongue.

He quirked his brow at her, smirking that damnable smirk, though he did flush pink; “Put that away, Iris, unless you think you can find a use for it in battle.”

Iris fell out of her stance and looked at him with wide eyes, fluttering her lashes a little _too_ innocently; “I’m not sure I catch your meaning Commander. Is there a maneuver you were thinking of?”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen murmured, scratching the back of his neck. Iris felt a smug swell of pride at having unbalanced him. “Perhaps we should…now, during a spar, you need to temper your spells so they don’t hurt someone or set the grass on fire. You saw how Emma uses snow? It’s the same principle. I’m not sure how we’ll manage with fire, but—”

Without a word Iris called forth a small palmful of pale green veilfire and held it aloft. She kept her gaze hard and did her best to not laugh at the look of hesitation on Cullen’s face. She circled him slowly and watched the way his feet moved with hers. Waiting for the right moment she reared back and launched the fireball at him, giggling at the girlish squeal that erupted from him when it smacked into his shield, barely missing his chest.

“Andraste preserve me, what was that?” Cullen squeaked. 

“Veilfire—not flame, just the memory of it—doesn’t burn,” she said gesturing for him to look down and see that his shield was indeed unscorched. “Perfectly harmless. Wouldn’t want to damage those lovely locks of yours.”

“You think they’re lovely?”

“I think you spend an inordinate amount of time making them look lovely. Shall we? Or do I need to keep launching fireballs at you until your breeches get damp?”

“You’re hilarious,” Cullen replied dryly, levering himself up in a smooth motion. “Maybe we should just get started for real this time. Assume your stance.”

Iris dropped, holding her sword in the same position he’d gently guided her into. He grinned, which she took as a good sign. She drew back, but her attention was drawn to the figure approaching from behind. Petite, slender and swathed in a dark cloak. She was ready to greet them when the figure drew two wicked daggers from her belt. 

“Cullen! Look out!” Iris shrieked. 

The assassin made a sharp, downward stabbing motion just over his unprotected chest. He caught her arms with his forearm, pushing her back and forcing her to roll with the motion. Cullen grabbed a hold of Iris’s shoulder, levering her behind him. His big body protected her, blocking all sight but the broad expanse of his back and shoulders. She flushed when she gazed up at him—the sun caught his hair, and it gleamed golden. He faced off against the woman with nothing but a wooden sword and practice shield; he looked almost heroic. 

The assassin lunged, aiming those knives for his sides. He managed to turn her away from them, once again forcing her to adjust her stance and give him time to prepare. She dashed in on quick footsteps, feinting left before lunging for his right side. He grabbed the woman’s wrist, shoving her away from him and twisting one of the daggers out of her hands. This time, when she popped back up, her hood had fallen from her dark hair. She looked remarkably like…

“Your Majesty?” Iris asked, her mouth popping open in shock. 

The Queen of Ferelden, dressed in dirty leathers and a rough, oiled cloak, actually _winked_ at her; “The one and only. You’re slowing down, Commander.”

“It’s been awhile since we met last,” Cullen riposted. “Cut me some slack.”

“Cullen,” Iris pressed expectantly. “Cullen, how do you know the Queen of Ferelden?”

“I met her when she was giving the Kirkwall guards what for,” he answered. 

“Yes, I distinctly remember the Guard Captain coming up to me and begging me to let my wife stay in Kirkwall and ‘put the fear of Ferelden into them,’” a familiar voice called from the steps. 

Iris recognized the King instantly, though he looked different. His freckles were more pronounced after days in the sun, his ginger hair was windblown and bright, and his _smile_ … he almost looked boyish. It was quite the contrast to the man she met back in Redcliffe. 

“I apologize, your Majesties,” Iris exclaimed, dropping into a low curtsey. “We were not expecting your arrival.”

“That’s because we didn’t tell anyone,” Alistair quipped, tossing an easy arm around the Queen’s shoulders. “And please, while we’re here, we’re just Alistair and Lynn.”

Iris might have responded if a high-pitched squeal didn’t shatter the morning air like fine crystal; a tiny red-headed elf was barrelling down the stairs from the keep proper at almost irresponsible speeds. She threw herself at the King with uninhibited gusto. 

“Brinn!” He exclaimed, embracing her tightly. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, _your Majesty,_ ” the elf named Brinn replied. 

_Brinn… as in Brinn Tabris? Oh… oh Maker!_

“Maker, don’t call me that,” Alistair muttered, holding a hand over Brinn’s head. “I’m sorry, but did you get shorter? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Hey, you!” Brinn snapped, playfully shoving at his chest. “You may be some fancy king, but I _will_ hamstring you!”

The Hero of Ferelden was in Skyhold. With the King of Ferelden, and if this tiny red-headed elf was Brinn Tabris then the blonde elf with the golden skin and cat-like smirk had to be Zevran Arainai. Actual heroes. She’d read about them—like Hawke and Fenris—and something happened to Iris that had never happened before. 

Words failed her. 

Cullen seemed to have taken notice; “Iris, are you OK? You look… pale.”

“She...and him...Blight...adventure...archdemon…”

“Breathe,” Cullen chuckled. Oh, it was all so funny having a laugh at her expense.

“I am going to kill my brother!”

Brinn actually _looked_ at her; “Why would you do that? Who’s your brother? Oh, I’m sorry we haven’t met. I’m Brinn.”

“You’re the bloody Hero of Ferelden,” Iris shrieked. “And my brother is the soon to be dead Inquisitor who didn't give his sister the courtesy of telling her that the heroes from her books were coming to Skyhold! I’m the freaking Envoy of the Inquisition and I’ve been left looking like a damn fool twice now!”

“In his defense,” Alistair interjected. “We didn’t tell _anyone_ we were coming.”

“Ah,” Brinn said, sweeping her gaze over her. “You must be the famous Iris, then. You know, I wouldn’t have guessed, but now that I look at you… I see it. He talked about you near constantly in Crestwood.”

“Yes,” Zevran practically purred. “Those lovely green eyes… they are unmistakable.”

“Yes,” Cullen almost sighed… very nearly dreamily before clearing his throat. 

“Oh yes, those freckles,” Zevran continued, actually _taking Iris’s hands in his_ , gazing deep into her eyes. She was sure she blushed to her toes. “Those perfect, heart-shaped cheeks… and other things that are heart-shaped, I am sure. Those curls, like ebony silk… they look so soft, my dear. Just like your hands… they are quite perfect, you know. Such _long_ fingers…”

“I think that’s quite enough,” Cullen grumbled. 

“Do I know you?” Brinn asked, apropos of nothing and completely ignoring her lover. She squinted at the Commander before widening her eyes. “Maker’s breath! You were that Templar—”

She cut off with a look from Cullen—keen and bereft—before he schooled his features into the cool impassivity Iris had grown used to. He stood a little straighter before turning to Iris; “We will continue our lessons later, perhaps after the meeting in the War Room.”

Iris watched him go, his steps a little too measured for the true ease he was trying to exude. She thought of the grey-purple scars crisscrossing his back, the way he sometimes seemed lost in thought...or memory. 

_‘Kinloch Hold Circle of Magi—they needed mages and the treaties guaranteed them. But the Circle had been overtaken by a crazed Maleficar. They journeyed up the tower facing demons, blood mages, and abominations. At the very top of the tower was one poor soul, a Templar who had been tortured endlessly for days. He begged Tabris to annul the Circle, purge them all lest any more be hiding amongst the rest. She stayed her hand though and ignored his ramblings, chalking it up to madness brought on by his captors and whatever they had done to him.’_

_Oh Cullen...what did they do to you?_

Lost in thought, Iris didn’t even notice Zevran had moved on to the Queen; “And who is this enchanting creature?”

“Back off, Zevran,” Alistair said with a forced sort of laugh. “That’s my wife!”

“Lynn Theirin,” she said smoothly, somehow looking and sounding every inch the Queen she was, even in her dusty leathers and her messy hair. “Formerly Lynn Cousland. A pleasure; I have heard so many things about the both of you.”

“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,” Brinn said. 

“Mostly good things, I assure you,” Lynn replied. 

“Wait, I remember you!” Brinn exclaimed. “You were that feisty noble girl at the Landsmeet.”

“I’ve never heard of her!” Iris blurted, flushing to the tips of her ears when four sets of eyes turned on her. “I mean… I’ve heard of the Couslands, of course. The last Teryns of Ferelden, other than the Mac Tirs who weren’t exactly Teyrns—Loghain was born a farmer and Maric made him nobility after the war—anyway, but the Couslands were wiped out.”

“Not my brother and I,” Lynn replied. “But that is a long and rather sad story.”

“She was a rather minor, albeit important, part of the Landsmeet, when you think about it,” Brinn explained. “But her being one of the last Teyrnas in Ferelden—what with her having been usurped and all—probably helped. I remember the whole Landsmeet was in arms. Maybe about half, a little more, were in our favor after having brought Loghain’s crimes to bear. Enough to depose Loghain, maybe, but there was enough contention that it would have been hard to proceed. But then, out of nowhere, this tiny girl comes barrelling out of the crowd with fire in her eyes and she shouts at the top of her lungs ‘ _Highever stands with the Wardens!’_ After that, things swung in our favor. How you came to _marry_ her, I’ll never know—”

“She is too pretty for you,” Zevran offered.

Iris wasn’t listening at this point—as fascinating as all of it was, all she could think about was what rooms they had available and if they were suitable for the King and Queen, and _Oh, Maker_ Josephine was going to have a fit! She did know one thing, though. 

She was going to kill Xander.

~~~

Xander was only about half-awake and barely dressed when he stepped into the courtyard. He wondered idly if Josephine still had Cabot keep some of that Antivan coffee on hand—it seemed to do better than tea in that regard—when he caught Iris’s eye. She looked at him with _murder_ in her gaze, and his sleep-addled mind couldn’t quite figure out what was bugging her until he saw a flash of flame-red hair. When had Brinn shown up? Where had she _been_ , for that matter? He looked back and forth between the pair and his sister and… was that the King and Queen of Ferelden? When did they get to Skyhold? 

Then Iris summoned a palmful of fire, and he was no longer half asleep—and he ran. 

“Alexander Valentino Gabriel _Nikolai_ Trevelyan I am going to _kill you_ ,” she shouted, impressively getting his ridiculous mouthful of a name in one breath. He did wince at the genuine anger in her voice. 

“What did I do?” Xander asked desperately, trying to use his superior height to gain more distance. It didn’t seem to matter—when had she gotten so _fast_?

“You show up with the Champion of Kirkwall and give me no time to prepare myself! Then I find out the Hero of Ferelden was the Warden contact you met. You want to know how I figured that one out, Xander?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know but damn his curiosity; “H—how?”

“Because she ran up and hugged the _King_ of Ferelden while I was in the middle of my training!”

“To be fair, I didn’t know the King was showing up!” Xander defended, throwing some zig zags into his pell-mell dash. He was sure he was amusing some of the guards, and whoever looked out the windows. “That’s a new development. And I’m sorry! I didn’t even know Brinn was _here_ —we separated after we hit the Frostbacks!”

“Hey Iris, guess what,” she mocked. “I traveled with the Hero of Ferelden. She might be arriving here. I know how much you love those books about her, you’ll be so excited to meet her!”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Did you hear the part where I was sorry? Because I am! I was _going_ to tell you; it just got so stressful around here and with all the plans for the Western Approach, and the Prince and I—”

“Oh you’ll be sorry! Sorry that you’re going to have to replace those boots!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” He exclaimed. They were his favorite boots. Iris shot several small balls of flame at his feet, each one just missing causing him to dance about wildly to avoid them. He tried to feint left but she countered and conjured a mild fire mine under his feet. It didn’t have the explosive power of many Venatori spells, or even of mines he’d seen Iris conjure in battle, but it still made sweat burst out on his forehead and the soles of his favorite boots were now scorched, though thankfully not completely ruined. He turned to her with an exaggerated pout, gasping for breath. “You happy now? Have you sought your retribution?”

“Oh, you big baby, I barely heated them. Look, they’re fine.”

“Josephine’s gonna be upset,” he murmured off-hand, inspecting the bottoms. They were in one piece, still. He sighed—they really were his favorite. “I really am sorry, though. I didn’t mean to make you look bad.”

“Xander,” she said, taking a deep breath and brushing a stray curl from her face. “I am the Envoy of the Inquisition. A title and job _you_ gave me. Twice now you have failed to inform me of incoming guests and that really has made me look like I’m not fit for the job. Just try to remember that if you happen to meet the King of Nevarra while at a café and casually invite him here?”

“Pretty sure Aunt Felicity would have a heart attack,” Xander quipped off hand. “But you’re right. I should communicate with you better—to be fair, I didn’t tell Josephine either, but she gets my reports. Maybe she should share those with you, considering how forgetful I seem to get when actual living legends are coming to the keep. Forgive me?”

“I suppose I have to, otherwise you’ll give me the puppy eyes.”

“They’re my only weapon against you,” Xander said with a wink. “Now, _Envoy_ , why don’t you see about showing the King and Queen to a room? Something tells me Brinn has her own little nest already set up in some secluded corner.”

“By your leave, Inquisitor,” she replied with a small bow and a grin. As she walked away he noticed not for the first time that she was barefoot. Josephine had a fit the first time she noticed Iris had gone without shoes while leading delegates around Skyhold. Iris had argued that the dress she was wearing was long enough to hide her feet.

“Iris? Care to explain why you’re barefoot...again?”

“Sixteen years in a Circle, uncomfortable shoes, and only stone to walk on. I’m enjoying every minute I get to feel pure earth between my toes,” she replied with a grin before looking around carefully. “Don’t tell Josephine.”

“Hey, your secret is safe with me,” Xander replied, his hands held up between them. “I’m going to see if I can sneak some coffee into my system; hopefully, we shouldn’t have any more visiting nobility today.”

~~~

Compared to Josephine’s fit, the day seemed rather uneventful. The poor woman was near as harried as Iris, and when she met the Queen and King, she seemed baffled by their jovial nonchalance. They’d _insisted_ whatever business they’d come for could wait a day while they settled in, and had spent much of the day catching up with Brinn and Zevran. Brinn and the Queen were engaging in elaborate, twisting stretches through most of the afternoon that caught more male (and some female) attention than the King was comfortable with (Zevran seemed unperturbed by it, and even joined in on the stretching for a bit); but Xander was happy they were settled. 

It seemed strange—mere days before, Skyhold had seemed so quiet. Then these figures from history and legend had sauntered in and shown that surprisingly, yes, they were distinctively human. Alistair was a goofball of a human being who loved cheese and was overly affectionate with his wife; Brinn and Zevran flirted with everything that moved with such a tandem ease, it almost seemed rehearsed; Fenris had a sense of humor that could rival Sera’s, when applied correctly; and Hawke, despite her veneer of wit and charm, was one of the single kindest, brightest, and gentlest people he’d ever met. 

It was a quiet day, so of course the evening was a raucous affair. His _entire_ inner circle was crammed into the Rest; every table had been shoved together, and everyone wanted a piece of the Heroes. Leliana had joined her friends and they spent much of the night regaling them with tales from their time during the Fifth Blight. Apparently, it hadn’t been all darkspawn and Sacred Ashes and broken Circles.

“I remember,” Brinn slurred. “We came across this merchant around Orzammar… and he had these shoes, and Leliana _squealed_. Actually squealed… cooed over them like newborn kittens.”

“I remember Bodahn’s boy the most,” Alistair mused over his mostly-empty tankard. He was getting a drunken flush of his own, and he was leaning heavily into his wife. “Sandal… I liked him. He liked the mabari more than me, though. I think.”

“I think they just understood each other better,” Brinn giggled. Xander quirked his brow—Brinn was probably pretty far gone if she was giggling. 

“Wait,” Hawke interjected with a snort. “ _Sandal_? Bodhan? Question, did Sandal say “Enchantment” a lot?”

“It’s pretty much all he said,” Alistair answered. 

“Oh, Maker, that was my manservant for _years_ ,” Hawke groaned around stifled laughter. 

“Ha!” Brinn guffawed. “Small world!”

“Well, from what you’ve told me, I’m glad my husband’s _hygiene_ has improved since then,” Lynn quipped, poking Alistair in the side. 

“Oh, Alistair’s behavior during the Blight will come back to bite you, Lynn,” Brinn countered. “If you ever have any grumpy children, you have to name him… Fuck, what was that guy’s name again?”

“I don’t remember,” Alistair answered. “I call him McGrumps in my head.”

“Very creative, darling,” Lynn giggled. It seemed the Queen was spending the evening cutting loose, as well.

It appeared, though, that Zevran had taken a shine to the Queen; “Have I mentioned someone as beautiful as you is absolutely _wasted_ on this lump? Ah, if only I’d known you then!”

Xander expected Brinn to be offended, but she only snorted, trying not to choke on her ale in her laughter. Alistair, on the other hand, made a protesting noise under his breath. 

“No,” he whined. “No, this one’s mine. You can’t have her. Please?”

Zevran responded by brushing Lynn’s long, dark hair from her face; she leaned into the touch like a spoiled cat and gave an exaggerated purr. Brinn could barely contain her laughter at Alistair’s completely offended expression. 

“Are you quite alright, Alistair?” Leliana asked, giggling.

“No,” he responded petulantly.

“My love, you better stop before poor Alistair bursts a blood vessel,” Brinn snickered. “I think he’s forgotten your particular way of getting to know someone.”

“At least he didn’t greet her in his customary manner,” Alistair responded smugly. 

“What’s his customary greeting?” Lynn asked. 

“Attempted murder,” Alistair grumbled with a good-natured scowl. 

“To be fair, that was only the once,” Zevran said.

“And it’s not like he succeeded,” Brinn added.

“Aw,” Lynn laughed. “Does that mean I’m not accepted into your group? He hasn’t attempted to assassinate me yet.”

“Oh? We can fix that,” Zevran said, pulling a dagger from—where _had_ he been keeping that dagger? If he hadn’t known better, Xander would have sworn the thing materialized out of thin air. “Any last words, your Majesty?” he purred, pulling Lynn uncomfortably close, dagger held against her neck.

Alistair made a sound somewhere between a whine and a squawk; “Get the _Crow_ away from my _wife!_ ”

Lynn, however, was giggling uncontrollably, tossing her hand dramatically against her forehead; “Oh, my _King_. Save me from this wicked, roguish and devilishly _handsome_ assassin!”

The room erupted into laughter at the display. Iris nearly tipped over right of the bench, but Xander had every reason to believe that had everything to do with the six empty tankards in front of her. Alyx and Emma were leaning on each other, cackling wickedly. 

Zevran chuckled, releasing the Queen; with a flick of his wrist, the dagger disappeared as quickly as it had been drawn. “See my Warden, it is true; not even a Queen can resist my obvious charms.”

“I’m a King now, you know,” Alistair grumbled. “I can have you… flogged! Drawn! Quartered!”

“Ooh, don’t _tempt_ me so, your Majesty,” Zevran cooed, giving an exaggerated shiver. 

“Actually, since we’re not on Ferelden soil, you really don’t have that ability. You’d have to abscond with him back to your own lands in order to deal out punishments. You could, however, ask permission of the Inquisitor if you wished to see him punished now,” Iris said, swaying in her seat. She went to take a deep breath but instead, let out a small hiccup into her hand; a tiny spurt of flame popped out and she looked around her, puzzled for a moment.

“Only Iris uses words like ‘abscond’ when she’s drunk,” Emma remarked dryly. 

“Oh, _absconding!_ I do rather like the sound of that. Are you going to take me away, your Majesty? Are you going to _punish_ me?” Zevran said, grinning broadly and waggling his eyebrows.

Alistair gathered Lynn into his arms, silently scowling at the assassin. Lynn, on the other hand, squealed with delight; “My _Alibear!_ You _saved me!_ ”

Brinn snorted; “Alibear?”

Xander shook his head; “I’m sorry, Lynn, but all mystique the King might have once had is now gone forever. I will never be able to unhear ‘Alibear’.”

“Aww, Alibear! That is _adorable!”_ Leliana cooed.

Alistair picked up a spoon from the table and tossed it at Xander’s head. Thankfully, it went wide and bounced harmlessly off Bull’s chest. Brinn widened her eyes at the massive Qunari, like she was only just then noticing him; “Ooooo, he’s bigger than ours!”

“And horned,” Zevran noted. “And _grey_.”

“Do you think he knows Sten?” she asked. 

“Last I checked, he wasn’t going by “Sten” anymore,” Alistair said. “When I saw him last, he was actually the Arishok.”

“I could say it’s been a while since I’ve been so thoroughly ogled,” Bull responded with a waggle of his good eyebrow. “But that would be a lie.”

“Bull, was it?” Brinn asked, leaning towards him like she was delivering a message of the utmost importance. “I have a very important task for you. It’s _very_ important. I need you to send a care package to the Arishok; it needs to be filled to the brim with cookies and covered by a painting. He’ll know who it’s from.” She winked conspiratorially, laughing when Bull seemed genuinely baffled by her words.

Leliana sipped demurely from her wineglass, a small smirk brightening her features; “It’s so nice to have the family back together again.”

They would have continued late into the night, but the Queen was dozing sleepily on Alistair’s shoulder, Brinn on Zevran’s, and suddenly Iris climbed up onto the table; “ _Bull!_ Bull, lookit! I’m a dragon!”

“Iris, what are you—” Alyx started, laughing.

Iris didn’t let her finish her sentence. She extended her arms out as far as they could go, opening her mouth wide. Pillars of flame erupted from her hands and, surprisingly, her _mouth_. 

_Oh. So my sister can breathe fire. Good to know._

Bull made a sound of triumph, pounding his fist into the table; “Holy shit! Boss, did you see that? That was _fucking awesome_!”

“Shit, you have got to teach me that! Do it again!” Alyx yelled, cackling loudly.

“I am a mighty High Dragon!” Iris shouted. “Hear me roar!”

She made an exaggerated, gurgling yell that Xander was positive was supposed to be a roar; either way, fire poured out of her mouth again, eliciting equal responses of cheers of triumph and gasps of horror. Alyx climbed up next to her on the table, throwing an arm out for balance as she swayed slightly. She pounded her fist against her chest and opened her mouth in much the same way, but all that came out was a truly impressive belch and a handful of sparks. 

“Well,” she stated. “That was uncomfortable. But it’s Princess’s turn! Get your ass up here, Emma!”

“I am not a Greater Mistral,” Emma responded. “I am not nearly drunk enough for this.”

“Do it!” Alyx chanted. “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

“Alright, fine!” Emma exclaimed, clambering up on the table. She opened her mouth and let out a steady stream of frost, chilling the beams above their head and cascading snowflakes into people’s drinks. Alyx laughed uproariously, clapping her on the back. Iris giggled and threw herself between the two of them, wrapping her arms around their waists. The three of them tipped their heads back in unison, letting out a truly impressive cascade of fire, electricity, and frost.

“Yeah!” Bull cheered. “Little dragons! I love it! Boss, are you as turned on as I am, right now?”

“ _And on that note,_ ” Xander choked, blushing to the tips of his ears. 

“Inquisitor,” Cabot said from behind him, uncharacteristically nervous. “Apologies, Inquisitor, but I’m afraid they are cut off.”

“Aw, he’s spoiling the fun, Boss!” Bull protested. 

“To be fair, Iris did nearly burn the Rest down,” Xander chuckled. “So I think it’s best to call it a night.”

“I’ll bring Iris back to her chambers, Inquisitor,” Cullen offered. He swept his arms around her legs, gently depositing her over his shoulders. “I’m turning in soon, anyway.”

“ _Wheeeeee_ ,” Iris squealed, extending her arms. “See, Xander! I _am_ a High Dragon! I can _fly!_ ”

“Yes, you certainly can,” Cullen chuckled, adjusting her in his arms. “Now it’s time for bed—something tells me you will pay for this in the morning.”

“Next time I’m gonna do it from Bull’s shoulders for maximum mayhem! You hear that Bull? Mayhem!”

Bull laughed uproariously; “Go to sleep, little one! There will be time for mayhem in the morning!”


	25. Chapter 25

Cullen sat alone in his office looking over reports from his troops in the Emerald Graves. It seemed the Inquisitor might need to pay a visit to the area. Cullen hated sending Xander out on what seemed like foolish errands when more important matters were at stake, despite Josephine’s insistence that his appearance alone brought more weight to their cause. He had just switched over to yet another report of darkspawn activity in the Western Approach when he heard a light knock on his door.

“Enter,” he called, not bothering to look up. The door opened quickly and slammed shut; he jumped at the sound and looked up. Iris stood with her back to him, her head pressed against the door. He felt a wry smile tug at his lips as he took in the picture before him. “Ah, so the mighty dragon has come down from on high.”

“Don’t talk. Just give me whatever it is you give Xander for his headaches,” she muttered, shuffling towards his desk. Her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail and the simple dress she wore hung off her shoulder--as though she had just thrown it on.

“I think Cabot might want me to withhold it in punishment alone,” Cullen said. “You did nearly burn down his tavern.”

“If you don’t give me something to make this pain go away, I might be forced to burn down your office,” she threatened.

“One thing I happen to remember from my Templar training--you don’t have enough mana to even light a candle right now,” he replied with a chuckle. She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, and he knew what she was trying to do. He’d seen the way she would widen her eyes and smile sweetly when she was making a request of someone. Even in her disheveled state, she looked absolutely _adorable_.

“One candle can burn down a room,” she pressed.

“That it can. If you could make your way over to one.”

“How much longer do I have to look at you pathetically before you give me something to make this go away?” Iris whined.

Cullen shook his head and ruffled her hair playfully. She winced at the gesture, and he cringed sympathetically, pulling a vial from his desk. She popped the cork and downed it in one shot before sinking to the floor and leaning up against his desk. He walked around and sat down next to her, smiling slightly when she took the opportunity to lean on him.

“I am never drinking again,” she said, trying not to whine.

“Was that your first time drunk?” Cullen asked.

“No...maybe...yes,” she sighed.

“Six tankards of ale and you still managed to breathe a plume of fire,” he mused. “Quite impressive.”

“It wasn’t my first time drinking,” she muttered, pressing into the furred mantle around his shoulders. He thrilled a bit when he felt her inhale deeply--just a bit. “Just the first time I could actually sit and drink. No need to worry about being caught. I didn't even get drunk when I first got to Ferelden; needed to save all the coin I had.”

“I should thank you,” Cullen said suddenly, and Iris tipped her head up to look at him. He found himself caught in her bright green eyes and needed a moment to regain his thoughts. “You have shown me a perspective that I would never have had about the lives of the mages I was charged to oversee. I always believed that we were doing the Maker’s work--keeping the world safe, and keeping the mages safe. But now I truly see that you were prisoners...and I was one of your jailers.”

“It's never as simple as that Cullen,” Iris countered. “I understand the need for the Circle. I know that our abilities require discipline and training to ensure that we don't accidentally burn down a tavern.” She laughed knowingly, gazing coquettishly at him through her lashes. “There are some mages who deserve to be locked away...even some who deserve to be made Tranquil.”

Cullen was shocked into silence for a moment; he could barely believe what he was hearing. Iris had been quick to see him as a villain the moment she had learned of his Templar background. Yet there she was, touting the need for Tranquility. She sat silent, staring ahead before continuing.

“Magic is a gift. We are _gifted_ with abilities that amaze and astound. We don't ask for it; we don't choose it; we're _born_ that way. But we choose what to do with those gifts. Those who seek to hurt others don't deserve their gifts. I know Alyx would tan my hide if she heard me say that. But she didn't see what Xander saw in the false future. None of us did...but I read his report.”

“It was very disturbing, yes,” Cullen said hoping to diffuse the ever growing tension that was building in the room.

“I'm not saying we should go off and make every rogue mage Tranquil,” she clarified. “I'm just saying that I understand why so many fear us, and why locking us away seemed the best solution.”

“It was never the right solution,” Cullen murmured. “Just the easiest.”

“You were at Kinloch, weren't you?” she asked quietly and suddenly. He flinched for a moment, and after only a heartbeat’s hesitation he answered.

“Yes.”

“How many days did they keep you?”

“I lost track,” he answered, his voice a low and humiliating rasp. “I'm still not sure. I'm also not sure I want to.”

“Desire demon?”

“How did you…?”

“The scars on your back.”

They sat in silence and he closed his eyes, keeping his focus on her presence. He was in his office in Skyhold; she was next to him. He was safe. She was safe. There was no danger. He was distracted from his mantra by the feeling of soft fingers gliding over his palms. She ran her fingertips over the rough spots of his hands; a subtle heat radiated over them, and the aches he had felt from writing out the guard rotation suddenly washed away.

“You have calluses where you hold the quill,” she remarked, lingering over his roughened fingertips. “Does this help at all?”

“You are quite amazing. You know that right?” He smiled at the astonished look on her face.

“You're teasing me,” she countered with an endearing little blush.

“Not at all! On my honor, that is a genuine sentiment,” he began in earnest. “You call down fire like it's _yours_ to bend and control. To you, it is merely a gift. You are able to recite obscure political and economic facts at the drop of a hat, yet you only see yourself as well-read. You are an amazing woman Iris, and yet you see yourself as just a bookish girl with an affinity for flame.”

“I just thought that maybe your hands hurt,” she replied quietly, her face inching closer to his.

“They did. Not anymore though,” he whispered, brushing his fingers against the softness of her cheek. He could feel her breath catch and he leaned forward.

“Cullen,” she whispered, her long black lashes fluttering against the swell of her cheekbones.

“ _Iris_ ,” he rasped, his voice low and thick, even to his own ears. They drew closer, their lips a mere hair's breadth apart...

There was a sudden knock on the door and they pulled away from each other so quickly, he swore he imagined the entire moment. He barked out permission to enter and did all he could to not throttle the messenger. As he listened to their report, he watched Iris leave and walk back towards the main keep. Her hair was blowing in the breeze. She was halfway across the bridge when she turned back to look at him--he didn't even hear the rest of the message, so lost was he within her gaze.

~~~

After he’d begun working with Hawke regularly, Sebastian had found meditation and prayer lacking. It was no longer meditative; nor was it relaxing or calming. He still turned to prayer when he needed guidance, or when he felt like there was no one else to turn to save the Maker himself. But if he wanted to clear his mind, he turned to fletching arrows. The act of selecting a head, cutting feathers, carving the nock, and inspecting the shaft became a repetitive task that turned out to be more useful than anything else he could accomplish. He’d always had a full quiver, no matter the circumstances, be it wading through a wave of Qunari invaders or fighting slavers on the Wounded Coast.

Unfortunately, his mildly-useful diversion in Kirkwall turned out to be superfluous in Skyhold. Professional fletchers made arrows in bulk for the guards and the elf girl in the Inquisitor’s inner circle--Sera. Despite the fact he had more arrows available to him than he could ever hope to use, he still took to his solitude--sometimes the garden, most of the time his chambers--and fletched his arrows. Willow shafts; iron heads; swan-feather fletches; ram horn nocks. He’d used the same materials for years, and never once had they failed him. He worked quickly, his hands remembering the task more than his mind.

Though his hands were far from idle, his mind began to wander. It was dangerous enough with a fletcher’s knife in his hands, but it was whom it wandered _to_ … that was dangerous. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and the quiet moment they’d shared mere days before in the Chantry. He remembered vividly the sight of her fingers slotting together with his, her skin so much paler than his--stark white in comparison. The simple touch, as chaste as it was, drew something pleasantly tight within him--even the mere memory. He hadn’t realized how greedy he was for touch… how much he craved it. It had been _so long_ …

He mentally kicked himself; was he really that desperate ( _lonely_ , a wicked inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Varric corrected) that holding hands did this to him? A woman offers her hand in prayer, and he reads into it like it’s so much more. It was not a lover’s touch. And yet…

He was snapped out of his musings by a sharp knock on the door; he started guiltily, slicing his thumb with the sharp knife. It wasn’t a new occurrence, but it still hurt none the less. He swore under his breath, and growled out a greeting; “Enter.”

“Such language is unbefitting a Prince of Starkhaven,” a familiar voice snarked.

“Fenris!” Sebastian exclaimed, setting his arrow gingerly on the desk, wrapping his thumb in a towel and applying careful pressure. “Good to see you--I’ve been meaning to catch you.”

“Same,” Fenris replied, clasping Sebastian’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture. “It’s been a long time.”“It certainly has,” Sebastian replied fondly. “I noticed you’re here with Hawke--to be honest, I never thought I’d see you two again.”

“You know Marian and impossible causes,” Fenris sighed, an indulgent smile brightening his features.

Fenris had changed much in the years since Kirkwall--his hair had grown long, and he was fuller through the shoulders and waist. He was less guarded, more expressive… and Sebastian had every reason to believe Hawke was responsible for the change. They were in _love_ … the kind of love that seeps into your very soul and changes you fundamentally. He was deeply happy for his friend, who deserved all the love in the world.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?” Sebastian asked, forcing a jovial grin. If he was being honest with himself, even Fenris’s easy company was almost too much that day. He felt antsy--like his skin didn’t quite fit--and he wasn’t sure if he needed stillness and solitude or the opposite.

“We missed you last night,” Fenris remarked.

“I didn’t want to intrude on the fun,” Sebastian answered.

“What makes you think you were intruding?” Fenris asked, settling into the chair at the writing desk. “If anything, _I_ missed you.”

“I appreciate that, Fenris,” Sebastian sighed. “Now, I take it you didn’t just come to invite me to catch up over cards?”

“Hawke and I are heading out with the Inquisitor and a few of his companions--cousins, I think… and the Altus,” Fenris answered, tipping the chair back on its two legs. “I was wondering if you would accompany us--we could use an archer of your caliber in the approach, considering Brinn and Zevran are useless with bows.”

“How would you know that, given that you just met them?” Sebastian quipped, raising an auburn brow.

“I asked them,” Fenris replied with a shrug. “Beyond that, _I_ would enjoy your company. It really has been a long time, Sebastian, and I would like to catch up with you.”

“I don’t think so,” Sebastian sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Being frank, I was considering going back to Starkhaven. I have seen the Inquisition and I would be honored to offer it my support, but my country--”

“What?” Fenris slammed the chair back into it’s rightful position, glowering at him. “You want to go back?”

“The Inquisitor is doing good work,” Sebastian explained with a careful shrug. “But he has enough people here without me getting underfoot.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and folded his arms stubbornly; “You don’t want to go back to Starkhaven.”

It was not a question. Sebastian suddenly felt a bit defensive; “I _do_ have responsibilities, now, Fenris.”

“And you’re also a kind-hearted, dutiful man who delayed taking his throne and stayed in a city gone mad to protect the Grand Cleric,” Fenris retorted. “You take things slowly, but you _don’t_ leave things unfinished, Sebastian. Something else is going on here.”

Fenris had a gift when it came to Sebastian, it seemed. He’d always had an aptitude for reading others--a survival mechanism, if Sebastian had to guess--but Fenris always had a special talent for seeing right through to his core. That awful night in Kirkwall… Sebastian had been so angry. Fraught with grief, he’d called for--no, _demanded_ \--Anders’ blood. Hawke had refused, and Sebastian… had not reacted well. His threats, though empty, had given Hawke pause, and for a moment he’d seen the conflict in her eyes--she’d considered striking him down if only to save innocents. Fenris had grabbed him by the furred ruff of his ridiculous white armor and dragged him forward, shoving a dagger into his hands.

_If you want it done, do it_ , he’d demanded, jabbing his finger at the mage… at the _monster_.

Sebastian had raised the knife to Anders’ throat. He’d been ready… he’d _wanted to._ But he’d seen the resolve in his face, almost something like peace. And Sebastian found that, again, he didn’t have the stomach. He _couldn’t._

_It’s not a bad thing, that you can’t do it_ , Fenris had said softly. _But don’t ask Hawke to do something that you_ cannot _._

Sebastian hadn’t wanted to kill Anders. Not really. And he didn’t want to really leave Skyhold. They both knew it, so he wouldn’t bother lying.

“What’s going on?” Fenris asked softly. “Why are--”

“It’s Emma,” Sebastian interjected, burying his uninjured hand in his hair. It sounded so ridiculous saying it out loud, but he _knew_ Fenris would get to the bottom of it eventually. It was a secret that begged to be told, it seemed. “I… I’m not sure what I feel, but it’s _something_ and she deserves better than me.”

Fenris sighed deeply, raking his hands through his long hair; “So you like her?”

“I think I do,” Sebastian admitted, feeling his face flame. “Maker, it’s absurd. But I do.”

“It’s not absurd,” Fenris countered. “It’s natural. You’re a man who likes women and she’s a lovely woman. What’s the issue?”

Sebastian quirked an amused brow at his friend; “Nice to meet you pot; I’m kettle.”

Fenris chuckled; “Alright, fair point. But I’m not the best example of how to court a lady.”

“Court a lady?” Sebastian mocked gently.

“Seduce, woo, whatever it is you decide,” Fenris said with a playful roll of his eyes. “My point is it all worked out for the best with Hawke and me. But that’s the exception, not the rule.”

“Are you saying Hawke is exceptional where Emma is not?” Sebastian teased.

“Yes, but I am incredibly biased. Her ass is _quite_ spectacular,” Fenris replied dryly. “My point is that I made myself miserable for _years_ based on the falsehood that my walking away from Hawke somehow made me less than worthy of her, and if I’d been brave enough just to talk to her I could have spared myself the heartache.”

“I think the situation is a bit different,” Sebastian mumbled.

“It is,” Fenris stated. “Your biggest problem has always been your indecision, Sebastian. You’re a good-hearted man; any woman would be lucky to have you and any man is lucky to have you as his friend. I know I am. But you are frustratingly hesitant and it made you miserable in Kirkwall, and it’s going to make you miserable here.”

“So I should just… what? Go profess my undying love to her?” Sebastian intoned.

“Don’t get cute,” Fenris shot back, kicking him firmly in the shin. “There is no need to be so dramatic; you have no more vows to hide behind, and you’ve committed yourself to this cause. And like it or not, you and I both know Hawke isn’t going to let you slink back to your castle to give your silent support.”

“She is quite tenacious in that regard,” Sebastian laughed.

“This is going to sound remarkably like something from one of Varric’s terrible books, but you deserve love, Sebastian. In whatever form you receive it, if you want it you deserve it. _Especially_ you. Of all people,” Fenris demanded. “We are heading to the Western Approach in a few hours. I suggest asking the Inquisitor if you may accompany us. I daresay the Battlemaster could use the company.”

Fenris departed without another word. Sebastian was left reeling. He peeled the towel off his hand; it had long stopped bleeding and would only take slight touch of healing magic to close the wound, should he even choose to tax a mage’s mana for such a minor thing. He went to the corner, where the Starkhaven bow--his grandfather’s bow--leaned unstrung against the wardrobe. He hefted the familiar, smoothed recurve in his hands. The early morning sun caught the polished wood, and it glinted gold.

He scrambled out the door, hoping to catch the Inquisitor before he chose his team for the Approach.

~~~

It was _hot_. Maker, it was so hot. Xander and his delicate Marcher sensibilities couldn’t handle the heat. _Days_ , they spent in that miserable desert, trekking across the blighted wasteland. Though the rock formations were pretty, their appeal wore thin quickly. _Especially_ when they offered little in the way of shade. The others had worn lighter armor made of pale linen and light leather, but Xander didn't have that option. His metal boots slid in the sand, the back of his neck was equal parts itchy and _on fire_ , and he broiled in his heavy armor.

Brinn and Zevran had scouted ahead to find the ritual tower, and without them he had to thank the Maker for Sebastian. The man was no wilds tracker, but he steered them away from Varghest nests and White Claw Raider patrols. He’d even managed to keep them out of sight of an Abyssal High Dragon when she’d swooped overhead too close for comfort.

“Bull is going to be dreadfully disappointed,” Emma remarked quietly, her hand closed tight over her spirit blade hilt. “She’s _magnificent_.”

“Oh sure, magnificent,” Dorian retorted. “Until she swoops down on us and snaps us in her jaws like dim-witted gurns.”

“As soon as the dragon passes, we should continue to the Giant’s Staircase to the northwest,” Hawke interjected, running a miserable hand over her sweat-drenched face. “That’s the easiest way to that tower. From there… I don’t want to think about it right now, to be honest.”

If Xander found the heat miserable, the ritual tower was even worse. It wasn’t the smell of blood, or the unnerving piles of corpses heaped haphazardly to rot in the sun. It wasn’t even the demons flanking the blank-faced Warden mages. It was _Erimond._ _Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium_ , with his spotless armored robes and mincing voice and his florid bow--everything about the man felt like a cheese grater against Xander’s raw nerves.

This was the villain of Tevinter he’d been warned about his whole life. This was the cliched filter through which everyone else saw Dorian; this was the type of man Fenris was used to (and expected, if his knowing sniff was anything to go by). Even hours after the encounter, shooting pains were running up from the Mark into his shoulder. And Erimond had fled; after the heat of battle cleared, all that remained were the piles of corpses and pools of blood that now baked in the afternoon sun. The direction he fled pointed to only one course of action.

“Adamant,” Brinn said grimly. “The abandoned Warden fortress on the edge of the abyss. Fitting, I suppose, given what we face.”

It was hours later; sunset had come and gone, and they gathered in sober silence around a relatively abandoned oasis (well, abandoned after they killed the nesting varghest) musing on the day’s events. Thankfully, the air was rapidly cooling, and despite the fact Xander had about a dozen or so things to work out, he couldn’t focus. The cool water and cooler air helped, but the sunburn radiating off the back of his neck was brutal and burned terribly. He groaned in agony as he pushed his hair off to the side, trying to stop anything from touching the raw, pink skin, but it was a fruitless effort.

“Here,” a soft, low voice offered behind him. “Let me.”

Impossibly-soft fingers brushed against his neck and shoulders, and the hot/cold thrum of healing magic pulsed through his torso. He shivered under the touch as Dorian moved his hands over burned, bare skin. Xander leaned into it a bit, greedy for contact and aching for more. After all that had happened that day, after the past few days of miserable trekking and desert heat and sand in places sand was _never meant to be_ , Xander wanted to indulge. He let his eyes slide closed, choosing to believe that Dorian’s soft puffs of breath against the back of his neck were precursor to a kiss on the newly-healed skin. The mustache hairs would scratch a bit, but he rather imagined they would be a beautiful counterpoint to that full pout--

“You southerners and your lily-white complexions,” Dorian chuckled, yanking Xander out of his shameful musings. “I’m not sure how you survive any sunlight at all.”

“Not all of us can be golden paragons of sun-proof Tevinter beauty, Dorian,” Alyx countered, groaning as Emma healed her sunburn. Judging by the small cloud of snowflakes around her fingers, Xander assumed she was applying a bit of frost magic to soothe the heat.

“This is true,” Brinn sighed, splashing her pink face with cool water. “Maker, it’s hot.”

“I wasn’t born for this sort of heat,” Hawke complained. “It’s nice now, though. Why don’t we do all this at night?”

“Because the Abyssal High Dragon is more active at night, Hawke,” Sebastian chuckled. “Personally, I’ll take the heat.”

“Honestly, all of you are such children,” Zevran chastised playfully. Xander had counted to twenty when they’d made camp, and the man had been shirtless and somehow effortlessly sprawled within that timeframe. Xander wasn’t sure how he did it. “This is nothing compared to Antiva--take this and combine it with the press of thousands of people and the smell of low tide and then talk to me.”

“Darling, I love you,” Brinn countered, flicking a reedy plant at Zevran. “But the last time we were in Antiva, you complained about the humidity the whole time, so I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’ve spent so many summers in your muddy-and-mild Ferelden, I fear I’ve lost my tolerance,” Zevran defended, recoiling from the plant like it was a poisoned dagger. “This heat is much dryer.”

“Yeah, so’s a bonfire,” Alyx complained.

Fenris smirked, settling down next to the small fire they’d built. An amused look glittered in his eyes as he watched; he’d spent much of the day in full armor (dark-colored, no less) with a hood pulled over his hair. Xander had to admire his tolerance.

“This is nothing,” Dorian laughed. “Fenris would remember the summer of 9:20--one of the worst Tevinter ever experienced, right? I think the grape crop suffered mightily that year.”

A sudden silence descended over the camp. Fenris’s bare shoulders stiffened to the point they were up near his ears, and Hawke scowled so fiercely at Dorian, Xander suddenly feared the man spontaneously combusting.

“You _are_ from Tevinter, no?” Dorian pressed, misreading the tension in the air.

“Yes, but I do not remember much from that year,” Fenris commented dryly. “I was far too busy being made into a living weapon to be concerned about the grape crop.”

A sudden look of understanding passed over Dorian’s face, and he snorted derisively; “Oh, yes. Danarius’s little _experiments_ were certainly the talk of most society parties that year. Such a vulgar display of power and wealth--unnecessary, cruel and unusual. Honestly, I think that was the last thing Father and I agreed on.”

“You knew Danarius?” Hawke asked with mild concern.

“Only as much as I had to,” Dorian replied, wiggling his fingers in a noncommittal gesture. “Honestly, the man represented everything that’s _rotten_ about our homeland, and was the sort of cancer that motivated me to join the Inquisition. The world is a better place with his death; may his soul rot forever in the Void.”

Fenris grunted in agreement yet said nothing more. Xander sighed with relief as almost immediately, Hawke’s posture softened and the tension went out of the air. Dorian removed his hands from the back of Xander’s neck, gently placing the hair back into place to fall down his back.

“There,” he said softly. “Good as new. Dare I say better?”

“Don’t push your luck, Pavus,” Xander teased, chancing a gentle headbutt against Dorian’s shoulder. It was such a familiar and intimate gesture--something silly he rarely did around past partners, let alone men he (absolutely did not) pine for--and for a moment, feared the sun may have baked his brain.

He took survey of the camp, if anything to take his mind off Dorian. He noticed Emma, having finished with Alyx, had moved on to Sebastian. They weren’t speaking, but she was watching him so intently, and her cheeks were flushed with something other than the earlier sun. Her fingers shook visibly, a mere breath away from his skin.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only Trevelyan who had it bad.

~~~

She was surprised he burned as badly as he did, even if it wasn’t as severe as it had been on Alyx’s milk-and-honey skin. Still, she could think of worse ways to expend mana. Because she was healing him. And that was her job.

_Sure_ , an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Alyx chastised. _Just like Iris really thinks Cullen is stupid._

“How does that feel?” Emma asked, clearing her throat a few times. Her voice sounded high and tight even to her, and her fingers visibly trembled when they brushed against his skin.

“It feels wonderful, Emma,” he purred. She shuddered at the sound of her name in that _brogue._ She’d always had a thing for Starkhaven accents. “I don’t know exactly what you’re doing, but _don’t ever stop._ ”

She giggled, too high and too breathy. She grasped for a _safe_ topic of conversation; “I don’t plan on it any time soon. But… you really saved us today. When did _you_ pick up the hunting patterns of an Abyssal High Dragon?”

“The Maker may strike me down for saying so,” Sebastian chuckled. “But one can only read the Canticle of Trials so many times before one goes mad; I often found myself idle at nights in the Chantry, and _old pastimes_ weren’t exactly appropriate for a Brother of the Faith.”

Sebastian shot her a coy wink out of his periphery, and Emma blushed all the way past her neckline; she hoped she could blame the sudden redness on her own sunburn. She cleared her suddenly-parched throat; “So… you read books on dragon hunting?”

“Hawke had quite the eclectic collection,” Sebastian explained with a shrug. “But I distinctly remember being drawn to that one. It didn’t have much in the way of new research, but I fear I rathered devoured anything with even a hint of adventurous prospects.”

He did absolutely sinful things with his _r_ ’s. She was suddenly thankful she was behind him; that way, she couldn’t distract herself by emphatically trying to not stare at his lips. When she was done healing his burn, she pulled away reluctantly, letting her fingertips linger at the back of his neck. He stood, stretching hugely.

“I should rinse off,” he declared, loosening the laces over his breastbone. “A smelly scout does little to hide against wildlife, I’m afraid.”

Emma nodded mutely, trying her best to smile, but finding herself utterly unable to do much more than stare when he whipped his shirt over his head. Oh, his shoulders were broader than they looked, if that made sense. He was all hard, lean muscle--nothing bulky or soft--with a _sinful_ waist. Her fingers itched to run through the whorls of auburn hair dusting his chest, leading in a thin line down his waist, disappearing into his--

She was staring. She was bad… because she was staring. Like a particularly dull owl. He didn’t seem to mind--or rather, he was probably too polite to say anything--as he turned towards a secluded area where he could bathe in relative privacy. Emma watched him go, the twitch of his muscles an enticing play under that gorgeous skin.

“Have a thing for red-heads, hm?”

Emma jumped guiltily; Alyx had honestly snuck up on her! She flushed to her hairline, averting her eyes from her cousin’s cat-that-got-in-the-cream grin; “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Alyx said, a mock frown on her face. “I could have _sworn_ you were ogling the Prince just then, but I guess that was just me.”

“I was _not_ ogling,” Emma protested weakly. “I was… observing. I was just healing him, after all. I had to make sure everything was… I don’t have a leg to stand on, do I?”

“No, not at all,” Alyx said, grin widening.

Emma buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly; “This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever done, I think.”

“Whoa, back up! You lost me, Princess. I thought we were talking about you thinking Sebastian there has a nice ass. How’d we get into ‘worst thing ever’ territory?”

“Let’s be real, if you like men, you think Sebastian has a nice ass,” Emma remarked. “That, or you’re blind. Or wrong--”

“That is _entirely_ true,” Alyx interrupted.

“But that’s not my point,” Emma continued. “I mean… I’m pretty sure he’s chaste, and it’s wrong for me to… to _want_ , you know?”

“So… just because it’s a chaste ass, you aren’t allowed to look?”

Emma sighed quietly, her shoulders drooping; if only it were that simple. If it was just a question of attraction, it would be different. She could easily look from afar, if that was the case, but there was something about Sebastian Vael that made her want to know more. It made her want _him_ , in more than the physical sense.

“I wish it was just a question of looking,” Emma answered, dragging her hand through her hair. “It would be so easy to look. But… I… Ugh, I sound like a fresh-faced girl with her first crush right about now, I imagine.”

Alyx’s smile softened. “You _do_ know he’s looking too, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alyx,” Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Even if he was… he deserves better than me--Ouch!” Emma scowled up at Alyx, rubbing the spot where she’d simultaneously poked and zapped her. It wasn’t serious but it _hurt;_ “What was _that_ for?”

“ _That_ was for being a dumbass. Next time you’re talking to him, try _looking_ … at more than just his ass _.”_

Emma rolled her eyes; “I’m not as single minded as _some_ people I know in that regard. It’s just… and I’m going to get zapped again, but I’m a _mage_ , Alyx. In case you hadn’t noticed. And he’s a Prince… what do I have to offer him?”

“You’re right, you _are_ going to get zapped again. And you aren’t going to make me extol your virtues, are you? As numerous as they are, Princess, I’m not so good at the whole using my words thing. As you yourself have so helpfully pointed out in the past,” Alyx said, giving her a gentle shove.

Emma nudged her cousin, giving in to the urge to rest her head on Alyx’s shoulder; “We’re in the middle of a war, Alyx. This is bloody end times, and I’m supposed to… what? Go up and grab that princely butt?”

“Hmm…” Alyx said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “Yep, sounds about right.”

It was Emma’s turn to punch Alyx in the arm; “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. What if you’re wrong… and Ulrich… he’s--” A traitor hiccup of grief tore out of her throat, and suddenly her fingers felt like ice. _I’m betraying Ulrich; we will reunite at the Maker’s side! What am I doing?_

“Whoa, Princess, slow down!” Alyx said, throwing her hands up in a placating gesture. “You’ve mentioned Ulrich before. You want to tell me what the deal is?”

Emma drew his amulet out of her shirt; the metal was warm where it sat next to her heart; “He was the Knight-Lieutenant on my team--a Templar. He was… he was beautiful, but kind. It started off perfectly platonic, but we couldn’t help it. We sort of fell in love; you spend day after day with someone and it just sort of happens, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Alyx said with a far-off expression.

“ He… he died at the Conclave,” Emma rasped, trying not to choke on tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed. Not _ever._ If she gave into despair… _no._ It wasn’t an option. “He gave me this amulet the day he _begged_ me to stay behind at the Spire, and he promised he would come back for it. He _promised_ , and I promised I would wait for him. I _promised_ him, Alyx! So how _dare_ I sully his memory? Did he really mean so little to me?”

“Emma… I’m not good at this shit. I never know what to say, but… if you have a chance at something that could make you happy, shouldn’t you take it? Wouldn’t Ulrich want you to take it?” Alyx said, placing a hand over Emma’s.

“I’m not a bad person for… for wanting to know someone else?” Emma asked, sighing an exasperated sigh. “ _Fuck_ , I’ve never done anything like this before. And I don’t even know if Sebastian… all this could be moot, and I could be agonizing over _nothing_. I’m an idiot.”

“You are an idiot. But I can answer one thing for you: Sebastian _does._ Wherever that sentence was going. _Yes_ , he does.”

Emma leaned wearily into Alyx’s side; “Thanks for calling me on my bullshit, Alyx. Have I mentioned… have I mentioned lately you’re my best friend?”

Emma had never felt so singularly vulnerable than in that moment. An outsider looking in would say it was _sad_ ; with a friendship like this, who needs enemies, right? But it was true. Alyx had always been honest with her, and Emma trusted her with it… even though she expected to be teased mercilessly for it. It didn’t matter to her. She loved Alyx…

And judging by the particularly hard punch she received to the shoulder, the feeling was pretty mutual.


	26. Chapter 26

Xander had never been more grateful to be cold. The crisp air of the Frostbacks was so soothing on his sunburnt skin, he openly sighed with relief. The warning horn from Skyhold sounded like _home_ , so much so that he regretted having to be the bearer of bad news. Preparing for the siege of Adamant would take time, and sadly Xander would be of little help. He vowed to head straight to Cullen’s office the moment he bathed and got some good sleep. 

No sooner had his boots touched the grass of Skyhold, though, did Mother Giselle descend on him. He groaned quietly—he respected the woman, but he wanted a glass of wine and possibly an hour of total silence before he dealt with _anyone_. But he was Inquisitor, and with a planned siege on a legendary fortress of an equally legendary order, he couldn’t afford to alienate anyone. Least of all, members of the faith. 

“Inquisitor,” she said quietly, looking surreptitiously over his shoulder like she was looking for someone. “If I may have a moment…?”

“Of course,” Xander answered tightly. His gaze was drawn to the crisply-folded parchment in Giselle’s hands. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about one of your companions,” she continued. She swallowed hard, and Xander actually titled his head in askance. Now he was curious—he’d never seen Giselle visibly uncomfortable before. “The… the _Tevinter._ ”

“You know, _Dorian_ has a name, right?” Xander replied, scowling at the revered mother. “What is this about?”

“I have a message from Magister Pavus,” Giselle explained, holding out the parchment. “He has a retainer waiting in the Hinterlands; he wishes to speak with... _Dorian._ ”

Xander quirked his brow and flicked open the letter, skimming over the neat scrawl. With every word, Xander got angrier and angrier. If Dorian didn’t want to see his father, that was his business; the blatant guilt trip combined with the passive-aggressive exasperation reminded him of his own mother. 

_Nope. Do not go there, Xander. No need to open that can of worms._

“So he wants me to send him with you to meet some retainer where he may or may not get dragged off to some secret meeting?” Xander snapped. “And he’d _rather_ I didn’t tell him?”

“Ah,” Giselle said, shifting from foot to foot. “I understand you’re upset. But surely, you must see—”

“Mother Giselle, I would be _very careful_ how you finish that sentence,” Xander snapped, holding a hand up to silence her. “I am not going to _trick_ Dorian!”

“Not going to trick Dorian into what?” 

Xander froze; of _course_ the man would materialize out of fucking nowhere _now_. Dorian was now somewhere around Xander’s shoulder and he was _painfully_ aware of the proximity. Dorian didn’t seem overly perturbed they were talking about him, though; “Oooh, a letter! Is it a _naughty_ letter. Tell the Antivan Dowager that you’ll marry her daughter for _no less_ than your weight in gold.”

Xander scowled at Giselle, who had the decency to at least look sheepish, before turning to Dorian; “Dorian, there’s… it’s for you. From your father.”

“My father,” Dorian asked, narrowing his eyes dangerously. He sobered more quickly than Xander had ever seen him. “Let me see that!”

Dorian snatched the parchment away, reading it over and over. It crumpled in his shaking fingers, and Xander was half-tempted to place his hands around Dorian’s just to calm him. He did keep his distance, though, and was thankful he did when the letter spontaneously went up in flames.

“‘I _know my son_ ’?” Dorian spat vehemently. “What father knows of me could barely fill a _thimble!_ This is so like him, you know. Just like I’m sure it will be just like him to drag me back to Tevinter whether I like it or not. ‘It ends there…’ my flaming arse!”

“Hey,” Xander soothed, running his fingers over the backs of Dorian’s hands. “I won’t let that happen. If you want me there, I can protect you.”

“He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle,” Dorian responded. “Although Maker knows why he thinks I would! You know, if that _absolutely_ wasn’t his penmanship, I would half-expect this to be a Venatori plot! An ambush to lure me and the dread Inquisitor into a deadly trap!”

“Could it be?” Xander asked, even though the comment was made in gest. 

“Unless my father has joined the Venatori, I don’t think so,” Dorian answered. “Although I do admit to a bit of morbid curiosity. Why _here?_ Why now?”

“I can’t make this decision for you, Dorian,” Xander said. 

“And why not?” Dorian snapped back. “That… I’m sorry, Inquisitor. That was unworthy of me.”

“You’re angry,” Xander remarked, smiling softly. He tried to ignore the sting of Dorian’s use of his title. Again. “It’s alright. What do you want to do?”

Dorian sighed heavily, worrying a path in the grass; “I say we go meet this “retainer”. If it’s a trap, we spring it and you kill everyone! You’re good at that.”

“And what if it’s true?” Xander asked. “What then?”

“Well,” Dorian explained with the air of explaining why water was wet. “Then we send this retainer back to my father with the message that he can stick his ‘alarm’ in his wit’s end! Don’t mind me… I know you have a siege to plan and important… Inquisitor things to do. You don’t have the time—”

“I _do_ have the time!” Xander interrupted. He gave into the urge to squeeze Dorian’s too warm fingers in his big hands. “Dorian, we’ll take a bath and give it an hour; then we’ll grab fresh mounts and be at the Vandral Hills by no later than next week, alright? I promise.”

“Don’t go rearranging everything for me,” Dorian whispered. Xander felt his fingers tighten, like he was seeking… something from Xander. Reassurance?

“It’ll be alright,” Xander promised. 

~~~

Xander had never been with Dorian alone before; at least, not when imminent death and terrifying lyrium-riddled futures weren’t a thing. In the days it took to get to Redcliffe Village, Xander learned quite a lot about Dorian. He learned about Dorian’s favorite books and his favorite foods; he learned quite a bit about wine, as that seemed to be a favorite as well. He learned that Dorian liked history and romance and, yes, he even liked dogs. Although he swore Xander to secrecy on that last one—he would never hear the end of it from the Commander or the King. 

He also learned there was quite a bit of bad blood between Dorian and his family. He was quite oblique, speaking in very vague terms, but Xander knew better. Something… something bad had gone down, and that was putting it quite mildly. Xander knew the look; he recognized the betrayal. He remembered the night his mother… but no. He couldn’t go there. Not when he had to focus. 

Not when Dorian _needed_ him. 

The Gull and Lantern was ominously silent and dark when they arrived, despite it being the middle of the day. Dorian held his shoulders back; he stood tall, but there was a wariness to his step that made him look rather like a cornered animal. 

“Uh oh,” Dorian murmured. “No one’s here. That doesn’t bode well. You’re sure this was the right place?”

“It’s what the letter said,” Xander replied. “Is it possible—”

“Dorian,” a rough, thickly accented voice called from the shadows. 

Dorian froze, his eyes widening in horror; Xander could see why. A man who looked almost identical to Dorian in every way stepped out of the shadows. Dorian stiffened like an angry cat, growling under his breath; “ _Father_.”

This was…it was Xander’s turn to freeze. It was Dorian’s father. So much for a “retainer”. For a horrifying moment, Xander considered what would have happened if he’d let Dorian come alone. Suddenly, the suggestion that they might drag him back to Tevinter seemed less unlikely now. 

“So the story about the family retainer was, what?” Dorian spat. “A smokescreen?”

“So then, you were told,” Magister Pavus sighed. He turned his dark gaze—so much like Dorian’s—on Xander. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

“Of course I was told!” Dorian shouted, his voice steadily rising in anger. “Maker forbid, the illustrious Magister Halward Pavus be seen at Skyhold speaking to the _dread_ Inquisitor! What _would_ people think? The scandal would turn the rumor mill until the next Age, I’m sure. So what is this exactly father? Something tells me it’s not a warm family reunion, so the only explanation must be an _ambush_.”

Halward shook his head, turning towards Xander and making a put-upon sound under his breath; “This is how it has _always_ been.”

Xander put up his hands in surrender; “Leave me out of this, Magister. You’re the one who cooked up this deception. Now _talk_ to him.”

“Yes, Father,” Dorian hissed. “Talk to me; tell me how _mystified_ you are by my anger!”

“Dorian,” Halward replied, his voice tight with the same disapproving tone he heard from his mother so many times before. “There’s no need to—”

“I prefer the company of men,” Dorian interjected, his voice wavering with something that sounded remarkably like fear. “My father… he disapproves.”

Xander felt his whole world stop. The company of men…He felt dumb, like he was unable to form words correctly. “As in… Sex?”

“He gets it! Wonderful. At least I don’t have to resort to drawing pictures,” Dorian snapped, an attractive flush working it’s way across the apples of his cheeks. 

Xander was screaming on the inside. The young man who’d been bodily dragged away from his first love, his mother shrieking in his face how it was _wrong_ and _wanton_ and _disgraceful_ recoiled in horror from the very idea. He had his _duty_ to his family. He was the heir. But the man who’d snuck around...who’d sought pleasure and ached for _connection_ but had to maintain the casual aloofness out of necessity...The man who’d wanted love and affection was sobbing. He was _begging_ Xander to reach out and _confess, damnit!_ But he couldn’t. His fingertips felt cold. 

_You are a disgrace; you’re disgusting. If you are caught again, you are nothing._

It took Dorian’s warm fingers on the back of his hand to bring him back to himself; “Xander? Are you alright?”

Xander jumped, giving into the urge to turn his hand towards Dorian’s; “I’m fine, Dorian. I’m sorry.”

Magister Pavus made a disgusted sound under his breath; “I should have _known_ that’s what this is about.”

Dorian whirled on his father; “ _No!_ You don’t get to make those assumptions about him! You don’t even _know him!_ ”

“This display is uncalled for,” Halward said. 

“No, it _is_ called for,” Dorian riposted. “ _You_ called for it when you lured me here!”

“This isn’t what I wanted!” Halward pressed. 

“I’m _never_ what you wanted, Father!” Dorian cried. “Or had you _forgotten_! I can’t even look at you right now; let’s go, Inquisitor.”

“Dorian, please!” Magister Pavus begged. _Begged!_ “If you’ll only listen to me!”

“Why?” Dorian rejoined, turning back towards his father. “So you can spout more _convenient lies?_ You are the one who taught me to hate blood magic, no? ‘The last resort of a weak mind?’ _Your_ words, if I remember correctly. But of course, your precious heir refuses to play pretend the rest of his life and you…You tried to _change me_.”

Tears—visible tears—were running down Dorian’s face. His voice was rough with grief and betrayal and regrets. Something in him wavered, and Xander saw—he _saw_ —what Dorian needed. His father was reaching out, and Dorian’s pride was stopping him. Something in Xander’s soul still sang at someone _understanding_ … but also cried out in protest. So many years of suppressing and feeling black and disgusting on the inside could not be so easily erased. The word “change” sounded strangely ominous in this regard. 

“I only wanted what was best for you,” Magister Pavus pleaded. 

“You wanted what was best for _you!_ ” Dorian cried, swiping angrily at the tears that now flowed freely. “For your _fucking legacy!_ Anything for that!”

Dorian had every right to be furious. Whatever Halward had done, it was wrong. But there was… something in the man’s face. A type of regret that doesn’t go away. It was the face of a man who was coming to his son with his heart in his hands, begging him not to crush it. Xander recognized the look well—he saw it in the mirror every day during his rocky reconciliation with Iris. 

In that awful moment, Xander realized he… _empathized_ with the man. Dorian had no reason to trust him; he could walk right out the door and no one would blame him. 

_Damn me and my fucking conscience._

“Hey,” Xander said softly, running his knuckles along the back of Dorian’s hand. Dorian turned those hazel eyes on him, so full of hurt and violation that Xander nearly faltered. The only thing that kept his resolve was Iris—her smiling face gazing up at him with such open love and acceptance and above all _forgiveness._ “I know you’re… well… but don’t leave it like this, Dorian. You will never forgive yourself. Trust me.”

Dorian sighed deeply, his eyes shuttering suddenly. He turned back to his father; “Tell me why you came.”

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition—”

“You _didn’t!”_ Dorian snapped. “I joined the Inquisition because it was the right thing! Once… once I had a father who would have _known_ that!”

And that was that. Xander could sense that it was over; Dorian stormed back towards the door, his hand on the handle, before Halward spoke up again; “Once, I had a son who trusted me...a trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. I only wanted to say that I am sorry…”

It must have been the right thing, because Dorian’s eyes widened mutely. He shot a shocked glance in Xander’s direction, like he was asking for… advice? Xander smirked and jerked his head in Magister Pavus’s direction before sneaking out the door. Whatever it was, Dorian deserved privacy. 

~~~

Dorian had stormed out of the Gull and Lantern with a look on his face that brooked no argument—he wanted quiet. Xander had to agree. They’d been in the tavern for a while; the sun was already setting. Xander led them back to the nearest camp, asking the scouts to please leave them for the night. 

“But, Inquisitor—” one of them protested.

“I am sure that whatever threat lingers in this place, Dorian and I can handle,” Xander assured. “Consider it a favor.”

“But we—” the scout tried to protest once more, but one look around Xander’s arm seemed to convince her. “Yes, your worship.”

It had rained while they were in the tavern; everything was soaked through. Xander laid out his blanket—he knew how Dorian hated to get wet—before glaring balefully at the damp firepit. Dorian made a noise under his breath before summoning a small glyph; a merry fire jumped to life at its center. By the time the camp was set up, it was full dark. It was unsettling to gaze into a campfire without the accompanying smoke or the familiar popping of wood. But it was also nice, and didn’t require fuel or tending. 

Unfortunately, once dinner was consumed, that left little in the way of something to do except sit in silence. Dorian had shown little interest in talking. Xander felt a surge of guilt—maybe he shouldn’t have made them talk? Maybe he’d just made it worse!

“You can stop agonizing, you know,” Dorian sighed, his soft voice deafening in the quiet. He rested his chin on his knees, folding his arms around his legs. It was a strangely vulnerable position. “It was fine. He… he said we’re alike, but… I don’t think I can ever forgive him. For what he tried to do.”

Xander felt something draw tight behind his navel; something had been bothering him since that afternoon; “He tried to… you said he tried to change you? What does that mean?”

Dorian made a disgusted noise under his breath; “It was a desperate move; I wouldn’t marry the girl and put on a show… keep it all unsavory, private and locked away. He was going to do a blood ritual to… alter my mind! Make me ‘acceptable.’”

Xander felt a cold that had nothing to do with the chilly night air; “Can… blood magic actually _do_ that?”

“Maybe,” Dorian replied quietly, tears evident in his voice. “It could have also left me a drooling vegetable. The fact that he found that preferable to scandal? It crushed me. I can’t even imagine what kind of person I would be, had he gone through with it. I don’t think I would like that Dorian.”

“I don’t think I would have, either,” Xander said quietly. 

Dorian jumped, almost like he’d forgotten he was there; “Is that so? If that’s the case, would you mind explaining to me what acceptance is? I find the concept rather foreign.”

Xander felt his throat close up. He must have visibly stiffened, because Dorian’s face crumpled in sympathy. Xander did what he did best—he deflected; “So… I suppose sexuality is a big concern in Tevinter, then?”

“Not so much _who_ I sleep with, I suppose,” Dorian explained. “It’s less about the fact that I prefer men; it’s more that I refused to live the lie. The duty in Tevinter, especially in the upper class, is that everyone lives up to expectations. No one performs blood magic; no one is anything other than the perfect ideal. Everyone maintains the polite fiction, even if everyone knows that it’s a lie behind closed doors. I refused. Selfish, I suppose… not to want to spend my life screaming on the inside.”

Xander had never seen Dorian look so utterly alone. He wanted to reach out, because to Dorian, he _was_ alone. No one understood. But Xander did. His mother… Beatrice was from Tevinter, or rather her Grandmother had been from Tevinter. So the same mindset had been maintained. But if Xander gave voice to the truth, then it would be _out there_. And he would have to deal with Dorian’s rejection, should he find Xander’s silly crush unpalatable. Xander had seen that before, and he didn’t think he could deal with that derisive sneer coming from _him_. Not him. Not Dorian. Instead, Xander reached into his pack and pulled out a thick bottle with a strong cork. 

“Bull gave it to me,” Xander explained at Dorian’s quisitive gaze. “I didn’t catch the Qunlat word, but apparently it means ‘drink’.”

Dorian snorted; “Of course it does. Trust that giant oaf to send you on a mission with me with alcohol. Shall we drink ourselves into a stupor?”

“Please,” Xander replied with an easy grin. He pulled two tin mugs from his supplies, handing one to Dorian. The drink was ominously clear and completely odorless. That didn’t bode well. “Cheers.”

They both downed their drinks simultaneously, recoiling almost immediately. All the breath was stolen from his lungs and his throat _burned_. He gasped for breath, trying not to laugh at the wide-eyed shock on Dorian’s face. For a moment, Xander feared he’d been a victim of a practical joke before a deliciously tingly feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. 

“Oh, that was vile,” Dorian spat, holding out his mug. “More, please.”

“Whatever the gentleman demands,” Xander replied, carefully filling the cups. “So talk to me, Dorian. About anything.”

“Alright,” Dorian responded, downing the Qunari drink in one gulp. It seemed to go down smoother—that or Dorian was expecting it. “Tell me what you think of your inner circle? There’s a bet going among all of us who you want to… what’s that charming southern turn of phrase? Knock boots?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Xander replied, burying his flaming face in his hands. He hoped the flush could be blamed on the alcohol. “And I don’t think that’s _anyone’s_ business.”

“Oh, come on,” Dorian pressed, pouring his own generous drink. “It will be our secret. Unless I won. In which case, I will take great pleasure in rubbing it in Varric’s face. And the Iron Bull’s for that matter.”

“Why?” Xander asked, suddenly achingly curious. “What’s your guess?” 

Dorian clicked his tongue disapprovingly; “You won’t hear a peep from me! I won’t have you sabotaging my inevitable victory.”

“Well, who are the candidates?” Xander pressed, downing the rest of his drink. It still tasted like fire and hatred, but it was _certainly_ getting the job done. “Now I’m curious.”

“Well, the front-runner is our Lady Ambassador,” Dorian answered. “And the favorite dark horse is Cassandra. I’m afraid _that_ particular love triangle may get featured in one of Varric’s terrible books, so for that I apologize. A few contrary arseholes are guessing Scout Harding, although if one were to choose a dwarf, one could do worse, I suppose. Iron Bull and Alyx… well, I think they’re just picking on me.”

Xander felt the back of his neck heat up; he nudged Dorian’s knee with his, shooting him a fond smile; “So who’s your pick?”

“I told you,” Dorian snapped playfully. “I’m not telling.”

“Why?” Xander purred, batting his eyelashes. “Afraid it’s you?”

Dorian made a squawk of indignation, slapping Xander across the shoulder; “I think we should change the subject.”

Xander happily followed whatever topic Dorian wanted. They spent the night speaking back and forth of their homelands and embarrassing childhood stories. By the time the bottle of ‘drink’ was gone, they were swaying merrily in place, and Xander was telling the infamous story of his aunt and “ _The Murder of the Queen Madrigal_.” 

“My aunt refused to speak to me for three months,” Xander giggled—actually _giggled—_ leaning heavily on Dorian’s shoulder. 

Dorian was laughing, nearly doubled over; “That was _scandalous_. Don’t ever let Josephine hear that story; she’d have four months of recovery to do if that story ever got out.”

Dorian turned his head, his nose pressed into Xander’s hair. Xander sighed with contentment, and they sobered quickly, though they didn’t separate immediately. They stared into the little magical fire, which had briefly turned pink during the raucous story telling, but was now shifting closer to a purple-blue color. 

_That’s pretty_ , Xander thought off-hand. _I bet Iris would love to learn that trick._

“Thank you for bringing me out here,” Dorian said suddenly and softly, apropos of nothing. 

“Hmm?” Xander asked, straightening to look Dorian in the eye. 

“This,” Dorian clarified, indicating around them vaguely. “I suppose… this wasn’t what I expected, but… it was something. Maker knows what you think of me now.”

Xander chuckled; “There isn’t much you could do to sully my good opinion of you, Dorian. If anything, I think _more_ of you.”

Dorian blushed, his smile near girlish in its enthusiasm. He turned his face away; “The things you say.”

“Hey,” Xander said, grabbing Dorian’s wrist. A shock ran through his arm at the skin-on-skin contact. His callused fingertips rasped over the soft skin beneath Dorian’s wrist; Dorian shuddered deliciously, and Xander had to fight every desire not to lay the man out like a feast there in the dirt. If anything were to come of it, Dorian deserved furs and silks and roses. Not Fereldan cold and mud. “I mean it, Dorian. I admire you… I really do. You have… no idea what it meant to me that you were willing to show that to me. I appreciate the trust you placed in me.”

It was sudden… so sudden if Xander blinked, he’d have missed the quick movement before Dorian seized his collar, yanking him forward. Their lips crashed together, and... _Oh, Maker_ … but Dorian’s lips were just as soft as they looked. The prickle of his waxed mustache was a delicious counterpoint along his upper lip; when Dorian’s hands slid up Xander’s neck, skimming over his jaw and sinking into the long hair at the base of his neck, he moaned softly. Dorian pressed his advantage, sweeping his tongue along the full pout of Xander’s lower lip. He parted his mouth to give Dorian access, pressing into the kiss. It was everything he could have dreamed and everything he wanted. He felt light and dizzy, like he was floating above his body. 

“ _Xander,_ ” Dorian rasped, breaking the kiss by degrees, pulling away _so slowly_. They sat there, their foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air as they attempted to calm their racing heartbeats. Dorian was the first to clear his throat and pull away; Xander’s body rebelled at the idea, following his heat until he had to catch himself before he tipped over. 

“Now imagine,” Dorian fairly whimpered, his voice thick and tight with some...unidentifiable emotion. “Imagine for a moment if you had to do that _every day_. If it was just expected of you, even though I’m sure you found it repulsive. And you may have an idea of what my life might have been like.”

Xander was silent; he couldn’t react. Half of him wanted to tackle Dorian to the ground, hitching those long legs around his waist and showing him _exactly_ what his imagination could accomplish. Another insidious voice—a small one that sounded uncannily like his mother—told him it was _wrong_. Another voice, deeper and darker, reminded him of one night—of a fear long thought buried, and he suddenly felt unclean.

Apparently, Xander was silent for too long, because Dorian shook his head sadly; “I think the alcohol might be making us both a bit dumb. Perhaps sleep is in order.”

Dorian didn’t let Xander answer; he simply crawled into the empty tent without a word. Xander pressed his fingers to his lips, not being able to help the foolish grin. They still stung where Dorian had bit him. 

~~~

Dorian couldn’t stop the pounding of his heart; his palms fairly glowed with uncontained magic; his lips _tingled_. Maker, they tingled! Xander was so handsome—bigger and broader than Dorian in almost every way—and the way he’d leaned in and _fucking flirted_ with those green eyes. He didn’t have the right to those eyes. They were too gorgeous. 

But those _sounds_ he’d made… like he might have been enjoying himself. Dorian had been willing and ready. He’d wanted to have sex with him. That much was for certain. He might have, had the rank smell of alcohol not brought him some sense of clarity. And with that clarity came _guilt_. It went beyond whether or not the Inquisitor liked men—or if the Inquisitor was alright having a Tevinter lover—but they were drunk, and something that day had deeply affected Xander. Something he wasn’t willing to talk about. On top of all that, he had a siege to plan… the fact that he was out there with Dorian to confront his father in the first place… it spoke well of him. 

_After Adamant,_ Dorian promised to himself. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He knew what confession did—feelings complicated matters. Even if Xander were _interested_ … Dorian didn’t know if he could just let him walk away. Regardless, he couldn’t do it to himself anymore. He couldn’t dance around him. Not after that kiss. Not after what he _felt_. _I’ll tell him when we return from Adamant. I can’t distract him now._

~~~

Xander had returned, and plans for Adamant were being finalized. The march would begin within a week, and Emma… well, she was terrified. Her mages were ready; she and Cullen had planned everything down to incorporating Alistair and Lynn’s Fereldan troops and the Mabari units. And yet, Emma felt something deep down in her gut that something wasn’t right. She would wake in the middle of the night, shaking and crushed by despair. 

_Everyone you love will die. You will be alone. You may as well give up; you failed already. You will fail them at Adamant_. 

Emma shook the dark thoughts; they were coming more frequently. They were most prevalent when she was idle or sleeping, but they came more and more ever since she’d taken off Ulrich’s amulet. She would always love him—she knew that to be true. But Alyx was right. Ulrich _would_ want her to be happy, just as she would hope the same for him. Despite the fact that she didn’t believe Alyx for a second that Sebastian was as interested in her as she was in him, it never hurt to make friends, did it? 

Hence why she was fussing in the mirror, making sure her blonde hair fell _just_ right. She didn’t know why she was being so meticulous—it was just a friendly visit, after all—but she had to be honest with herself. She wanted _more_ from Sebastian. She hated to admit it, but she had a _crush_. She hadn’t had a crush in a long time...not since her Harrowing. She hadn’t the first idea of how to pursue him, but she figured inviting him to the small get together at the Herald’s Rest that night was probably a good start. She ascended the stairs to his room, going over the words she would say over and over again, but her thoughts were immediately halted by the most _beautiful_ music. 

She recognized the instrument—it was a fiddle. She’d heard an Orlesian-trained musician play one similar in Val Royeaux, but for some reason it didn’t touch her like that soft, sweet melody. Strangest of all, it was coming out of _Sebastian’s_ room! She found herself conflicted—she needed to speak to Sebastian, and it was rude to eavesdrop, but part of her wanted to listen to that music all day. It wasn’t the most skillful she’d ever heard, but it had such feeling. It seemed so intensely personal, so she figured she would do the right thing and announce her presence. 

As soon as she knocked on the door, the music stopped. She wanted to huff in disapproval, but any indignation she may have felt melted when she saw him. His auburn hair, usually so meticulously combed, was messy and damp. His face was flushed—had he just emerged from the bath?—and his clothes were rumpled, loose-fitting and casual. One thing she noticed was his feet were bare. It was such a strangely… vulnerable look to him. It humanized him. She found herself flushing to the tips of her ears… especially when he smiled that _smile_ of his—the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and pulled those dimples into his cheeks. 

“Emma,” he greeted warmly, like he was genuinely thrilled to see her. “Please, come in!”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma replied, crossing to the desk. She noticed the fiddle—finely made and meticulously cared for—resting on the bed next to a sheaf of yellowed sheet music. “I didn’t realize you played.”

“Not many people do,” he said, shrugging casually. “My grandfather would be rather disappointed in my skills, but it keeps my fingers nimble and it passes the time. One can only make so many arrows.”

“You make your own arrows?” Emma pressed, tilting her head in askance. She logged it away as another tidbit of information she’d been freely given. 

“Most archers who aren’t part of an army do,” Sebastian explained. “It’s more practical than buying them from a fletcher—and less costly. I do now out of habit, if nothing else. But I’m sure you didn’t come to hear about how I spend my free time.”

“Actually,” Emma supplied, feeling her flush creep across her chest. “I was hoping to talk to you about that. About… free time.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head, his perfect lips drawing back into an equally perfect smirk. Emma couldn’t look into those eyes as they sparkled with mirth. “What do you wish to know?”

“I was wondering what you typically did in… the evenings,” she said, still unable to meet his eye. _Maker_ , what was wrong with her? She’d _never_ had this much trouble before. 

Sebastian snorted inelegantly; “I’m not sure I can just share _those_ habits with anyone. They _are_ meant to be private.”

Emma squawked in indignation, and without thinking, grabbed a throw pillow from the chaise and lobbed it at him. He laughed—full and loud—when it hit him in the side. She decided then and there she would do anything to hear that laugh again. Every day. For the rest of her life. 

“Well, I was hoping to claim you _this_ evening,” Emma clarified, grumbling under her breath. “Xander is… well, he’s throwing a small party tonight and I was hoping you would be…”

She couldn’t say it. She was embarrassed now, and the threat of rejection was too real. She looked away; this was too forward! He was a _Prince_ , for Andraste’s sake! He was probably into the more shy, retiring wallflowers who were trained from birth to be Princesses—not grunting, sweating warriors who earned titles like Battlemaster and made thinly-veiled (if accidental) references to masturbation. 

“Be… your escort?” Sebastian supplied after a long pause.

“Yes,” Emma squeaked. “Maker, this all sounded much better in my head.”

“Emma,” he said softly. Oh, she loved how her name sounded when he spoke it. “You seem so… can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” Emma answered. She tried to shoot for jovial nonchalance, but she couldn’t stop twisting a loose strand of hair in her fingers. 

“What am I to you?” Sebastian asked. It was a simple question, but when Emma’s gaze turned on him, there was such open vulnerability in his eyes. It was a look that demanded honesty, no matter how much it hurt. Yet it also promised... more. Whatever they were to each other, Emma could make or break it in that moment. 

“What am I to _you_?” Emma parrotted, still struggling to find the right words. 

“I asked you first,” he insisted. He took her fingers and pulled her to stand before him. She felt her heart race in her chest at the contact. She’d spent a shameful amount of time looking at his hands, and she thrilled when she felt those rough calluses against her skin. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his thumb skimming over her knuckles. “Please, Emma, I—”

“I don’t know,” she blurted. He visibly flinched, and she cursed her earlier reticence. She squeezed his fingers in what she hoped was a comforting gesture, sinking to the mattress to sit next to him. “I wish I did. Sebastian, you are a handsome man and _of course_ I’m attracted to you. Who _wouldn’t_ be?”

He laughed at that—a reserved, almost self-deprecating huff of mirthless laughter; “You would _honestly_ be surprised.”

“Hey, now, none of that,” Emma insisted. She was so surprised by that layer of Sebastian: she recognized the sense of self-loathing—or at the very least, the _utter_ lack of self-esteem—in his eyes. She’d seen it before… in others and in the mirror. “You want to know what you are to me? You are _Sebastian_ , and that’s the man I want to know! I’ve seen a Prince and a rogue and Void, I’ve even seen a Brother and a Priest. All those men are aspects of you. They are a part of who you are, but I want to know _Sebastian_ , because something tells me that he is more than all those men put together. I want to see you because… well, because I like you.”

He stared at her owlishly, his lips parted on a held breath. She averted her gaze, suddenly embarrassed by her candid little speech; “I apologize. We haven’t know each other that long, and that was quite forward, but I—”

He stopped her with a hesitant hand on her chin. With slight pressure from his fingers, he lifted her gaze to look in his eyes, and _Maker_ , he was smiling! It was such a beautiful, bright genuine smile, and for a moment Emma thought she actually _did_ see him. It had a rusty hesitance that suggested disuse, and she felt like she’d been given such a rare and precious gift and she wanted to keep it _so_ safe. 

“Thank you,” he sighed softly. He didn’t break their gaze. “I must admit, Emma, you are a remarkable young lady. If I’d known you all those years ago, I may have had more trouble than I did leaving. I want to know you, as well. You’re so beautiful, and so kind and I… I’ve spent most of my life hiding behind vows and duty and not wanting to be the boy I was. But… that was long ago. I’m not sure what I feel for you, Emma, but I want to find out. If you’ll let me.”

Emma felt so impossibly light; her heart flutter in her chest like a trapped bird, and she felt the sort of unmitigated _joy_ she thought she would never feel again. The cold feeling that had seeped into her bones since the days of Ulrich’s death seemed to wane a bit as Sebastian’s hand slid up her neck and jaw, sliding into the thick hair at the base of her neck. She leaned forward a bit until the tip of his perfect, beautiful nose touched hers, and she rubbed them together in an intimate gesture that was not quite a kiss. His little huff of breathless laughter ghosted over her lips, and she dared not speak, lest she shatter the crystalline magic of the moment. 

“I have something for you,” he whispered softly. He finally broke contact, but let his hand linger on hers as long as possible. He rummaged around his desk until he found a small, velvet drawstring pouch. He took her hand, gently prying it open until her palm laid flat, before he tipped the contents into her hand. “I… I commissioned this from Harritt while we were in the Approach. Do you like it?”

 _Like it_? Emma had never seen anything so simple that was also so lovely. A simple, silver pendant in the shape of a snowdrop flower on a long, delicate chain. Part of her surged and swelled with guilt—she’d only just taken off Ulrich’s amulet and shoved it into her jewelry box—but another part was so overwhelmed with the thoughtfulness of the gift. She wondered off hand if she’d ever told _anyone_ snowdrops were her favorite. 

“Sebastian,” she whispered, inexplicable tears springing to her eyes. “Where… how did you…”

“Someone told me you loved snowdrops,” Sebastian said with a grin. He moved her hair, helping to fasten the necklace around her throat; it fell perfectly to sit delicately at the hollow near her collarbone. “Funny, though. I can’t remember who.”

“I love it,” she declared, trying to speak around the sudden tears. She fingered the pendant, her cheeks starting to hurt from her smile. She bit her lip for a moment before turning to him. “Come to the tavern with me tonight. Bring your fiddle—I want to hear you play.”

“Is that an order?” He chuckled, taking the sting out of the tease by gently brushing her hair behind her ear. 

She leaned into the touch like a spoiled cat; “It’s a request… if you should like to oblige me.”

“Something tells me Maryden will be upset me usurping the musical duties for the night.”

“Oh, hang Maryden,” Emma replied flippantly. “She can share the floor for the night. Please?”

“Well, if the lady insists,” Sebastian purred, nudging her shoulder with his. “How can I say no?”


	27. Chapter 27

Two pirates walked into the tavern.

 _Sounds like the setup to some joke_ , Alyx thought. But then, with the web of allies the Inquisition had formed _—_ Ben Hassrath and Crows fighting alongside Seekers and Wardens _—_ perhaps it wasn’t so unusual.

The woman she recognized from among Hawke’s company: the infamous Isabela. She was somewhat more clothed than she’d been the last time Alyx saw her, a concession to the harsh cold of the Frostbacks. Nonetheless, she was impossible to miss.

The man next to her, though, drew attention just as easily as she did. Tall, with windblown black hair, a roguish smirk, and a long, dark green coat that just brushed the backs of his calves. Alyx rolled her eyes at the suggestive way his fingers caressed the hilt of his cutlass.

Still, Alyx knew a good time when she saw one. She pushed away from her table to intercept the pair on their way to the bar.

“Buy you two a drink?” Alyx offered with a confident smirk.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Isabela said, giving her a look that Alyx could only describe as weaponized bedroom eyes. Alyx grinned. Ooh, this _was_ going to be fun.

“After you,” Isabela’s companion said with a deep bow and a flourish of his hand. The bow was just a little too perfect, more fitting of a courtier than a pirate.

“The gentleman pirate, huh?” Alyx asked.

“Never hurts to be a gentleman. Unless someone’s pointing a sword at you. Then you just kill them first,” he said with a grin.

“If you say so.”

Alyx gestured for three drinks, and a moment later Cabot returned with three full mugs.

As she turned around, Bull waved her over, so she led the two pirates over to join the Chargers around a long table.

“Asaaranda!” Bull yelled across the room, raising his tankard towards her.

“How’s it going, Bull?”

“Good, good. And you brought friends! Zane, good to see you again,” Bull said with a salacious grin. “And you, Isabela.”

“It is, isn’t it?” the man _—_ Zane, apparently _—_ said, smirking back at him.

“I take it you lot have met?” Alyx asked.

“Yeah, the Chargers and I went up to the coast a while back to help them disrupt that red lyrium operation. They joined us for the drinking afterwards,” Bull said with a broad grin.

“Partying without me, huh? I’m hurt,” Alyx joked.

“We’ll just have to make up for it now.” Bull grinned. “Krem!” he shouted. “Bring out the maraas-lok!”

“Not again!” Alyx laughed, though she nodded appreciatively at Krem when he passed her a mug. She took a deep sip, and managed to keep her spluttering to a minimum this time as the drink burned down her throat. Zane, she noticed, had turned beet red and started coughing. Isabela cleared her throat in a much more dignified manner and peered curiously at the contents of her mug.

“ _What_ is this, and where can I get some?” she asked.

“Maraas-lok!” Bull said with a grin. “And I’ll talk to the boss; he might be able to hook you up.”

“Boss?” Isabela asked.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan—he’s the big boss around here. Good guy. Knows how to take care of his men.”

“Did you say Inquisitor _Trevelyan?_ ” Zane asked suddenly, a curious look on his face.

“Mhmm,” Alyx hummed, taking another deep sip from her mug. “That would be my dear cousin Xander.”

“Your cousin? You’re… you’re a Trevelyan too?” The pirate’s eyes had gone wide, and Alyx gave him a look.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” she said, scrunching her nose. “Care to tell me why you’re so interested in my surname?”

“Because it’s mine too,” he said softly, staring at her with his head tilted slightly to the side.

Alyx’s mouth fell open. The ice blue eyes, the dark hair, that _smile…_

_“Jonathan!?”_

_“Jacqueline!”_

They both scrunched their noses in eerily identical ways at their given names, but continued to stare at each other wide-eyed.

“Sister,” he said with a faint smile. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Alyx asked, gaping at him. “ _Actually, back up, why are you a pirate?_ ”

“Seemed better than listening to mother nag me about propriety and etiquette for the rest of my life?”

Alyx raised an eyebrow at him, sensing more to that story. “Alright, keep your secrets. But Jona _—Zane,_ ” she corrected, “you… you stopped writing. Mother and Father couldn’t give two shits about me after they had me sent to the Circle, but you always wrote! Every month at least, there was always a letter from you, and then after I was sixteen or so… _nothing_. Why?”

“Alright, fine,” he said. “Can we take this elsewhere, maybe?”

“Sure,” Alyx said, grabbing her drink and leading him to a secluded table on the second floor. 

“Now, you want to tell me what the deal is?”

Zane raised an eyebrow at her, and with a wave of his hand her mug lifted a few inches off the table before settling back down with a small _clunk_.

“You’re a mage!”

“Well spotted,” he said with a laugh.

“Okay help me out, what does that have to do with you being a _pirate?”_

“I… I realized before Mother and Father did. I knew if they found out they would have me taken away, like you were. So I ran. Threw everything I could into my damned pillowcase and slipped out the window before anyone could stop me. I ended up at the docks; one of the captains agreed to take me on as a deckhand. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“So let me get this straight… to avoid being taken to the Circle, you _ran away and became a pirate?”_

“That’s about the gist of it, yes. So you see why I couldn’t write. I was on the run, I was scared. I was certain if I sent a letter they would be able to find me somehow. I’m so sorry, sister,” he said, and damn if that _look_ he’d used to get her to forgive him for breaking her favorite wooden sword as a child wasn’t just as effective now.

“Don’t worry about it. I am _so proud of you, little brother!”_ She squealed, sniffing dramatically like she was holding back tears. She grinned and reached over to muss his hair.

“Oh, not you too!” he said.

Alyx laughed. “Why would you hesitate to tell me, though? You know I would never think less of you for being a mage.”

“Habit, I suppose,” Zane said with a weary laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t exactly avoid the Circle all these years by _advertising_ it.”

“True enough. But Zane, that must have been years ago. You haven’t tried to write since?”

“I did, but by then you weren’t at Ostwick anymore. It was hard enough for me to find that out, and then to hear they’d taken you to the bloody Gallows… I’m hardly surprised none of my letters got through. And then when I heard about… about the Chantry, and all of it… Maker, I was certain you’d be dead, Jac— _sorry,_ Alyx.”

“Nope,” Alyx said with a wry grin. “Still kicking.”

“I wish I’d known. I would have…”

“You wouldn’t have been able to find me. I’m just glad to see you again now. Though it really is going to take some getting used to the whole pirate thing,” she said with a grin. 

“Princess! Little one!” Bull yelled downstairs. Alyx’s grin brightened. 

“Hey, do you remember Emma and Iris?” she asked Zane.

“Not really. I was too young, I guess,” he said with a slightly sad smile.

“Well,” Alyx said, draining her mug. “Wanna go meet them again, then?”

“Lead the way, sister.”

~~~

“Look, guys! My baby brother is a pirate!” Alyx shrieked from the upper floor. 

Emma levelled a sardonic grin at Alyx who, judging by the state Bull was in, had already gotten into the Qunari liquor which Emma wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Iris chuckled under her breath; “Should we go meet him, or do you think Alyx will drag him down here?”

“Knowing Alyx?” Emma sighed. “I hate to encourage bad behavior, but she’s like an ill-socialized Mabari when she gets excited; let’s head up before she pees on the floor or something.”

Emma retrieved her mug of ale, handing the other to Iris, before making their way to the stairs. It seemed the point was moot, however, as Alyx swooped down the steps two at a time, dragging the young man behind her. He certainly looked like Alyx’s brother, with the Trevelyan blue eyes and the wind-swept dark hair, but the similarities ended there. He was a bit darker through the skin—probably from the sun—taller, broader… honestly he looked more like Xander in that regard, though not nearly as big. A bit of familiarity tugged at the edges of Emma’s memory. 

“We… we might have met,” Emma mused. “But you still look familiar… I might have been _very_ little. Right… you were still in swaddling clothes when I was sent to the Circle. I’m Emma; Leopold’s youngest. You’re Jonathan, right?”

He pulled a face. “Zane. Please.”

Emma nodded; “My apologies, _Zane_. Oh, and this is Iris. Edward’s youngest.”

“Wow!” Iris exclaimed. “You’re _really_ a pirate! That’s _amazing!_ Tell me—is _anything_ about _Dread Pirate of the Waking Sea_ at all accurate? Because I must say, that is my favorite pirate book!”

Emma giggled; “Don’t mind her; she likes books. A lot.”

“ _Dread Pirate of the Waking Sea,_ huh? Can’t say I’ve read it, but I’ll gladly answer any questions you have,” Zane said.

“Oh no!” Alyx laughed. “You’re going to regret that.”

“Give up on your brother, Alyx,” Emma intoned dramatically. “Once Iris starts the interrogation, he may never be the same again!”

“Hey, I know the difference between fantasy and reality!” Iris snapped indignantly. “But the author said it was based off of real-life accounts, and I’d like to see how accurate it is? Is that wrong?”

“Yes, I’m sure the Tal Vashoth concubines were _very_ accurate,” Emma teased. “Relax, Iris, we’re teasing you.”

“Fear not. One doesn’t become a pirate captain without a flair for the dramatic. I always love an excuse to tell tales of my many conquests. Shall we find a table, cousin?” he said, leading Iris away. 

“Those two,” Emma chuckled. “Tailor made, I tell you. Come on, Sparky, buy me another drink.”

“What did I say about calling me _Sparky,_ Princess?” Alyx said, punching Emma in the arm. “Also— _another_ drink? Is someone _nervous_ about something?” She grinned, raising an eyebrow.

“You _know_ why I’m nervous, Alyx!” Emma returned, rubbing over the offended spot on her arm. She blushed to the tips of her ears— _he’ll be here any moment!_ “Now, please, I am not drunk enough to handle getting stood up tonight.”

“As _if_ he would stand you up! You do realize he’s completely smitten, right? And, from the looks of it, already giving you gifts? Can you really not see it?”

Emma put a protective hand over the delicate silver pendant; the tiny crystals glittered in the flickering light of the tavern. She felt herself go a little gooey inside at the thought, and she figured it showed on her face, if Alyx’s reaction was any indication. 

“Oh, shit, you _really_ like him!” Alyx exclaimed. 

“Hence why I am so _terrified_ of his rejection, Alyx!” Emma rejoined, flushing darker if that was possible. 

“Emma,” Alyx said, giving her a soft smile, “turn around.”

Emma whirled towards the door, and her heart stuttered in her chest. He was framed by the waning sun of the courtyard, holding his fiddle case, and his gorgeous eyes were only for _her_. Emma hated to admit it—she wouldn’t out loud without at least four or five more drinks in her—but Alyx was right. She toyed with the pendant and shot him a shy smile. 

“Would you look at that,” Emma replied. “Maker, he’s handsome.”

“Go on, then,” Alyx said, giving her a light shove.

“And do what, exactly?” Emma murmured. “Run up and plant one on him? He’s a bit… tall for that. And proper! I mean, _Sera is right over there!_ I would never hear the end of it.”

“ _Talk to him_ , you dolt!”

“Right,” Emma gulped. “Talk. Use words. I forgot. Here goes.” She remained frozen to her seat, her knuckles white with the grip she had on her chair. He was talking easily with Maryden, tuning his fiddle. Emma caught a glimpse at what his fingers were doing, and she suddenly lost her train of thought. And courage.

“Hey! Princess!” Alyx said, snapping her fingers in front of Emma’s face. “You have this. Just go over there.”

Emma downed her drink in one go, nabbed Alyx’s mug and downed it as well. She regretted the action as soon as the air went from her lungs; “I shouldn’t have done that. Here goes.”

This time, she levered herself from her chair, trying to control the sway in her steps as she walked up to him as steadily as she could. He caught her eye and smiled so brilliantly, she felt her knees go weak for reasons other than the alcohol. 

“Hi,” she said shyly. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. Emma caught Alyx pumping her fists and gyrating inappropriately out of the corner of her eye. “Is… is Alyx quite alright?”

“Forget about her, she’s drunk,” Emma growled, shooting a glower at her cousin. Alyx responded with an exaggerated wink, and Emma blushed _even darker_ —she must have been as red as the wine in Sebastian’s glass. “I see Maryden has agreed to let you play with her tonight.”

“Oh, she was most insistent,” Sebastian laughed. “She knows a few Starkhaven folk songs, so I won’t be completely lost.”

“I know more Starkhaven folk songs than I have any right to,” Emma giggled. “Alyx and Iris probably know them too.”

“Oh?” Sebastian pressed, his brow quirked. “Do tell.”

“We had this old Enchanter back at Ostwick,” Emma explained. “Her name was Marla—the woman is a fixture. The sun will grow cold, and she will still be in the Ostwick library, singing her songs. She was from Starkhaven and she taught all the young apprentices her favorites. She loved to sing.”

“You sing?” He asked, grinning conspiratorially. 

“Not well,” Emma answered sheepishly. “I’m not sure about Alyx and Iris, but I rather don’t like my singing voice.”

“I don’t like mine,” Sebastian countered. “But I have been told by some very reliable sources that it’s quite good.”

“And what reliable sources would those be, Sebastian Vael?” She countered.

“Grand Cleric Elthina,” he said with sad, quiet deference in his eyes. “She would always be lingering nearby while I sang to myself… or would sing the Chant. She always told me she admired my voice.”

“Oh,” Emma mumbled, averting her eyes. “Sebastian, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he assured, reaching forward to tuck her hair behind her ear. She sighed at the soft touch, leaning into it when he gently twisted a long lock of hair around his index finger. “It’s a happy memory of mine… one I am thrilled to share with you.”

His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb rasping over the full of her cheekbone. She let her eyes slide closed, and if it wasn’t for the noise of the crowd around her, she might have surged forward and… 

No. That was inappropriate. And unworthy. But he was _so close_ , and she found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from that perfect bow of his upper lip. So entranced was she, she missed the fact he was speaking. 

“Hmm? I’m sorry, I was… distracted.”

“It’s quite alright. I find myself getting distracted around you, too,” he chuckled. “I said I would very much like to hear you sing tonight. If you don’t mind.”

“Really? Well, I suppose _if_ I can get Alyx and Iris to join me,” Emma agreed. “Alright, then. Do you know _The Antivan Lady_?”

“That one is older than dirt, Battlemaster,” Maryden countered. “I’m sure we can conjure it from our earliest music lessons.”

“Fair,” Emma acquiesced. “Let me get a few more drinks into Alyx and Iris first, though. As you were.”

Emma flounced back over to the table, where Iris had joined them. Emma was giddy, her face still tingling where his hand had been; “You two! Do you remember Enchanter Marla?”

“That woman is probably _still_ in the library,” Iris answered with a roll of her eyes. “I liked her; why do you ask?”

“Did she ever teach you _The Antivan Lady_?” Emma asked. 

“I will never get it out of my head, ever,” Iris replied with a giggle. “Emma, you’re _beaming_. What are you up to?”

“We’re going to sing it!” Emma exclaimed, feeling silly and bubbly and _impossibly_ light. 

“We’re going to _what_ now?” Iris asked. “Emma, you _can’t_ be serious!”

“As a Blight!” Emma countered brightly. “Cabot! Three doubles of your strongest stuff and whatever these two are having!”

A distinct lack of commentary from Alyx drew Emma’s attention; she was unusually quiet, staring into the bottom of her mug. Emma tipped her head in askance before putting her hand over Alyx’s; “Alyx, what’s wrong? Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“I’m fine,” Alyx said with a grin that was just slightly too bright. “Memories, that’s all.”

“The Antivan Lady,” Iris said knowingly. “Maker, Grier always hated it when you sang that to her.”

“Yeah, she did,” Alyx said with a sad smile. 

“Oh,” Emma murmured, sobering quickly. “Oh, Alyx, I’m sorry. I can—”

“No, no! It’s a good memory,” Alyx said, reaching up to rest her fingers over the phylactery Emma knew was hidden under her shirt. Emma could see the familiar chain wrapped around her neck, alongside another necklace Alyx always seemed to wear.

“Alright, then,” Emma said, resting her fingertips over Alyx’s free hand. She knew Alyx, and if she wanted to speak of it in more detail, she would have. Pressing for more, insisting they talk about it, would only provoke her and make her mad. It was a happy night—the last one for a while. “So… what I’m having? I don’t know about you, but I have to be thoroughly gone before I’ll sing a note!”

“I know just the thing,” Alyx said with a grin that scared her a little bit. 

“Oh, I’m nervous,” Emma laughed. 

“Look at what you’ve _done_ ,” Iris snapped playfully. “What are you pouring down our throats _now_ , Alyx?”

“You’ll see,” Alyx said, pushing away from the table and running over to where Bull was sitting. She came back with a dark earthen jug that Emma definitely did not like the look of, and poured a generous measure of it into each of their mugs. The label on the jug was in a language she didn’t know, which didn’t bode well. “Don’t ask. Just drink.”

Emma, feeling bold, lifted her mug in cheers; “To touching butts!”

Alyx cracked up and lifted her mug alongside Emma’s. “I’ll always drink to that!”

“To butts!” Iris giggled, blushing bright red.

The liquor burned like liquid fire and they had absolutely drawn the curious eye of every soul in the tavern. Bull cheered every time one of them downed another mug of the stuff, but Emma felt lighter and lighter every time. The girls had already started singing along with Maryden’s upbeat tunes, and apparently the scene they were causing had spread through the Keep, because every soul in the Inquisition with a spare moment had swung by to catch the display. Iris kept shooting flirtatious looks at the Commander, which turned him redder than Iris’s dress. Emma almost felt bad for him until she remembered the song they planned on. She shot an apologetic grin at Josephine and Zevran. 

By the time the first chords of _The Antivan Lady_ began, they’d drawn quite the crowd. Emma didn’t know if it was her alcohol-addled mind or if they really were that talented, but they actually sounded _good._ Josephine kept shooting them glares, especially when Emma and Iris lifted their skirts to reveal bare feet and ankles. It wasn’t the most flattering song to Antivan women, but the rhythm tripped easily over their tongues and the little dance they’d been taught came back to them quickly. The Starkhaven words came out in an easy flow, and soon most of the tavern was either clapping along or doubled over in laughter. 

Emma caught Sebastian’s eye over her shoulder, and she blushed to her chest, but didn’t lose the easy rhythm or her pitch. She gave her hips an evocative wriggle as they finished the final chord on a powerful burst, cutting off suddenly when the applause began. Iris flounced off to the group in the corner, where Cullen was grinning shyly at her. Emma giggled brightly, grabbing Alyx by the wrist and leading her back to the corner. She shot a grin over her shoulder that told Sebastian he was _expected_ to follow. 

“Wow, I wasn’t aware that singing lessons were part of the Ostwick Circle’s curriculum,” Xander laughed, his cheeks flushed pink with laughter and drink. 

“You ladies should take that act on the road,” Dorian added. “I dare say you’d be the talk of the courts!”

“The courts?” Zane said incredulously. “Taverns are where the real fun is.”

“I hate that song,” Josephine grumbled. 

Zevran was still laughing, despite Brinn poking him in the ribs repeatedly; “Come, Lady Ambassador! Surely, you’ve had the urge to lift your petticoat over your knee, no?”

“I most _certainly_ have not!” Josephine snapped indignantly, every inch of visible skin flushing bright red. 

“The last time I saw a display like that,” Varric chuckled. “Was when Blondie drank an entire bottle of Starkhaven’s Finest Whiskey and decided he had to sing the entirety of some obscure Orlesian opera at the top of his lungs! He was the talk of the Hanged Man for weeks.”

“I remember that,” Sebastian answered a bit tightly. “If I remember correctly, it took _quite_ a bit of effort to lead him home without him jumping a Templar patrol.”

“I might have let him stay with Hawke,” Fenris grumbled. “If I didn’t know the behavior he displayed _sober_.”

The tone suddenly shifted, and Emma crossed her arms angrily; “Maker, am I glad he’s gone for good.”

“He’s not!” Alyx interjected suddenly.

The whole table went silent; all eyes were turned on Alyx. Emma quirked her brow, snorting under breath; “Wow, I suppose rumors did get around amongst the Rebels… Don’t tell me, Anders was their Sacred Cow, of sorts? A flag to rally round? That’s how you know he left Kirkwall alive? Maker, if luck holds out, he got eaten by wolves within two days. _That_ would have been justice.”

Alyx clenched her jaw visibly, her knuckles white around the handle of her mug, but she said nothing.

“Hey, Asaaranda,” Bull said softly. “What’s wrong? You seem down.”

“Nothing!” Alyx said, plastering on a grin that was obviously fake. “I’m going to get another drink.” She swayed more than a little as she stood and made her way over to the bar.

Emma extricated herself from Sebastian’s loose embrace. She put a gentle hand on Alyx’s shoulder; “Hey, sweetie. What’s the matter? Are you alright? Is it Grier?”

“I’m fine,” Alyx said. “Just had a few too many probably. I’m gonna call it a night.” She glanced over at Sebastian, and back at Emma. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she added with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Emma quirked her eyebrow at Alyx; “Alright. If you’re sure.” Alyx’s fingers were toying with the phylactery… _No._ Not the phylactery. “What’s that necklace, Alyx? The one you’re playing with? The one you’ve worn since day one?”

“It’s a gift from a friend, Emma,” Alyx growled. “Leave it.”

“You’re deflecting, Alyx,” Emma pressed. “Show me the damn necklace, or tell me what this is about!”

“Fine,” Alyx grumbled, lifting the necklace so Emma could see it.

“So that’s what you were hiding—a Tevinter amulet?” Emma chuckled. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like Xander is going to have you arrested or anything. Why’d you hide it?”

“Ah, you know. Mage wearing a Tevinter symbol. Didn’t want to deal with people’s reactions I suppose.”

Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously; something about Alyx’s reactions was leaving her… cold. The incredible happiness she’d been feeling waned as suddenly as it had come. Her fingertips felt like ice as Alyx walked away from her; she clutched the pendant around her neck. Sebastian came up behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off, storming out the other door without a word or backwards glance. She barely caught a glimpse of his shattered face, and she tried to block out the stricken way he called her name. 

_She’s lying. She was always lying. You are alone. You will always be alone._


	28. Chapter 28

“I can’t tell you how grateful we are for your aid, Alistair,” Xander said softly, though to Emma it sounded like he was shouting in one ear while driving an ice pick through the other. “The Mabari troops and siege engineers will certainly aid us at Adamant.”

“I only wish we could go with you,” Alistair growled. “This _false Calling_ has been murder on my nerves since I got to Orlais, and that was only a few weeks ago. I can’t imagine what it must be like to not know it was fake.”

“Sadly, as much as my husband and I want to help the Wardens,” Lynn interjected. “Teagan will throttle me if I let Alistair stay away from Denerim for a moment longer than necessary.”

“Between your reinforcements and our existing forces, we should be able to take the fortress,” Cullen said. “Fortunately, it was built before the era of modern siege equipment.”

“Oh, those ancient walls don’t stand a chance against Fereldan trebuchets,” Alistair bragged. “They are already on their way from Denerim as we speak. They should reach your forward camps just days before the main bulk of your forces.”

“That’s the good news,” Xander murmured under his breath. “There is still a question of Wardens and demon armies and what not.”

“Yes, see that’s the bad news,” Alyx said. “Erimond called the ritual tower a ‘test’. Leliana and I have been working with our scouts, and there is a solid chance he is already raising the demons as we speak.”

“He’s certainly had enough time,” Emma muttered darkly. “But Iris has been kind of enough to provide records of the fortress’s construction, and Cullen and I can use choke points to limit the field of battle. My mages are ready, should the Wardens already have their demon army.”

Hawke leaned over the table, running her finger along the line that indicated the battlements; “Sebastian, Fenris and I will keep your men on the walls safe. If the ladders can get a foothold, we’ll be able to herd the Wardens into the center. Your forces will do better on open ground, but I want Fenris away from the mages.”

“I can take care of myself, Hawke,” Fenris growled disapprovingly. 

“Allow me to fuss over you, love. It keeps me young,” Hawke riposted. 

“While Hawke and Fenris are taking care of that, Zevran and I will meet up with my team,” Brinn explained. “We’ll see about the Warden warriors—there is a chance they’ll see reason.”

“We will see about hitting them from behind,” Zevran said without a hint of irony, despite his wording being ripe for innuendo. “We might be able to minimize casualties this way.”

“I would recommend Bull and the Chargers to reinforce the outer walls; set them up along chokepoints,” Cullen suggested. “Dorian, Vivienne and Solas can lead lances of Battlemages; Sera and Varric will be best suited to assisting the archers, obviously.”

“And Cassandra and Blackwall on the lines,” Xander finished. “That makes sense.”

“What about you?” Iris pressed. “You usually take a team of four, and other than Cole, that accounts for everyone.”

“Cole will be remaining in Skyhold per his request,” Xander answered. “As for my team of four… well, if you girls are amenable, I think I’m looking at them.”

Emma froze, hangover briefly forgotten in her shock; “Excuse me? Are you saying you want—”

“You with me, yes,” Xander finished. “You three are some of my best fighters, and I want you with me—for practical _and_ personal reasons, before you bother calling me out on them.”

“I”m not a warrior, Xander,” Iris said. “I’ve only just begun my training with the Commander and Emma.”

“You don’t have formal training,” Cullen interjected. “But you are one of our more powerful mages. If the Inquisitor wants you with him, I dare say you would do well to go. With that, I think we’ve done just about all we can. We’ll be prepared to march within the next few days.”

“I wish you luck, Inquisitor,” Alistair remarked gravely. “I fear you may need it.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done, your Majesties,” Xander replied. “We hope to see you in Skyhold again soon.”

“Oh, trust me, you haven’t seen the last of us,” Lynn said with a wink. “We will ride for Denerim in the morning.”

As the war council was dismissed, Emma couldn’t help but notice a bit of movement out of the corner of her eye. Alyx was absently stroking the Tevinter amulet. She’d been worrying over the thing the whole time, and if Emma wasn’t suspicious before, she was now. 

Hawke must have noticed as well, because she stopped Alyx in the hall as they departed and gestured to the token. “May I see that?” Alyx looked hesitant but held out the necklace for Hawke to examine. She studied it, her eyes tight and hard, before fixing Alyx with a scrutinizing look. “Where did you get this?”

“It was a gift.”

“I know it was a gift, because I was the one who gave it to him,” Hawke snapped, her eyes blazing. “ _Where_ did you get this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alyx said flatly, turning to walk towards the main hall.

Emma had never been more angry in her whole life. Or betrayed. _How_? How could she not have seen it? Angry, traitorous tears burned and the corners of her eyes as she stormed after Alyx; “It belonged to _him!_ Anders! You _fucking knew_! Didn’t you, Alyx!”

“Leave it alone, Emma,” Alyx said harshly, eyes flashing with anger.

“You lied,” Emma growled. “You _fucking lied to me!_ You _knew_ this whole time—you were _with him_. And he _gave_ it to you! Didn’t he?”

“I won’t say this again: _Leave. It. Alone.”_

“He killed _hundreds_ of innocents!” Emma pressed. “He was an abomination and a murderer, and you just… what? Went merrily with him? _Tell. Me. Why. Alyx!_ I need to know why.”

Alyx stood frozen in the middle of the hall, hands clenched by her sides. “Don’t call him that,” she said over her shoulder, voice low and dangerous.

“What,” Emma shrieked. A small part of her knew she was being ridiculous. And cruel. She was overreacting. But another part of her remembered that night in Kirkwall. She remembered fishing bodies out of the ruins of the Chantry. She remembered the evil, chilling cackle of a Pride Demon… 

_She lied. She’s always lied. She was never trustworthy_.

“Can’t stand to hear the truth? Because I’m sorry, but that is what he _was_. I _trusted_ you, Alyx! I thought—I need to know _why!_ ” Emma’s voice had gradually devolved to a choked sob; tears ran freely down her cheeks as every word lashed out like a dagger, severing any connection she had ever made with Alyx. 

_She never loved you. She doesn’t care…_

“Why. You want to know _why._ ” Alyx’s voice was low and deadly, her eyes bright. “I was taken from my home and put into a _prison_ when I was ten years old. I was fucking _tortured_ for years, and you want to know _why?_ Well guess what, Emma. SO DO I. I have been asking that question my _entire life!”_

_She only sees you as a Templar. She only ever saw you as a Templar._

“So, what?” Emma murmured, _hating_ the traitorous waver in her voice. “You justify the _murder_ of hundreds and the deaths of countless others? For your _freedom?_ You keep this from me because… why? Because you’re afraid I’ll drop everything and go hunt him down? Do you _honestly_ think so little of me?”

“Right now?” Alyx spat, eyes blazing. “You say you saw what happened in Kirkwall but you know _nothing._ You have no idea what it was like, how many died, how many were made tranquil. Anders put a _stop_ to it. Anders _saved_ me. So yes, I kept it from you. He does not deserve the so-called _justice_ your kind would bring upon him.”

They had drawn an audience; the hall was the fullest Emma had ever seen it, but it was silent as death. She could see Xander out of the corner of her eye, debating if he should step in. Emma, on the other hand, heard nothing but the sound of blood rushing in her ear and the insidious inner voice telling her that Alyx had never been trustworthy. Emma felt used… and betrayed. It stung… more than that, it hurt. Emma didn’t think it hurt that much when she found out Ulrich had died. 

“So it’s ‘my kind’ now, is it?” Emma snarled. “I should have known. I should have known better than to trust a _mage_ who would rather see the world _burn_ than have her _precious freedom_ sacrificed.”

“My _precious freedom,_ ” Alyx seethed, trembling with anger. 

“Enough, both of you!” Iris yelled walking into the hall; her voice, though loud, was trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

“Stay _out_ of this, Iris!” Emma hissed. “This can’t be solved with _neutrality_ and _center-sitting_ , unfortunately for _you_.”

“Hey!” Xander shouted. “There was no need for that!”

“No one _fucking asked you,_ Xander!” Emma screamed. What was _wrong_ with her?

“So what then, it’s always black and white? Why do you have to be on opposite sides all the time?” Iris whimpered, choking back tears.

“You want to see why?” Alyx said to her, and then turned back towards Emma. “Do you want to see what they did to me?” She began unbuttoning her vest. “DO YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT _ANDERS_ SAVED ME FROM?” she shouted, loud enough for all Skyhold to hear her, and cast her vest aside, stripping off her shirt along with it so she stood in the center of the hall in only her breast band. She turned her back towards them, raising her arms. 

It was hard to look at...and if she’d been in her right mind, Emma might have felt compassion of some sort. Distantly, Iris gasped in horror, and a dull buzz echoed around the main hall. Horrific scars—some smooth, some ominously jagged—crisscrossed her back and arms. Her chest was mangled; barely healed burns dotted her stomach and hips. Her ribs sat unevenly under her skin where they’d healed improperly. She’d seen those injuries—healed them, even… but never on someone she knew… on someone she _loved_. 

She was speechless. She wished she could say _why_ … but her inner voice stopped her. She was so upset… so _mad_. She couldn’t look at Alyx any more… her anger fizzled out as quickly as it came, and in its place, only despair. 

“Alyx,” Iris whispered, reaching out to her cousin and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Alyx shook it off.

“Don’t, Iris,” she said softly, jaw clenched as tears ran down her face. “Just don’t.” She turned away, shoving her way through the crowd to escape the hall; her vest and shirt she left abandoned on the floor.

“Neutrality may not be the solution,” Iris hissed, her eyes blazing at Emma. She was fairly _shaking_ with barely contained rage. “But anything is better than the life we were living. I doubt a _Templar_ could ever understand.”

Emma couldn’t look her in the eyes; she couldn’t stand to hear the buzz of voices around her. So, like a coward, she ran. She needed to be by herself, maybe collect her thoughts. Maybe, she could work out a way to apologize…

_No. Never. You destroyed it. You broke it. You are alone._

~~~

Alyx sped down one hallway, and then another, no destination yet in mind other than _away_. She couldn’t seem to escape the noise of the crowd, no matter how quickly she fled. The hushed roar of scandalized whispers rang in her ears. 

Finally she turned a corner into a quiet, completely abandoned stretch of hall. She scrubbed the tears from her face, equal parts frustrated and baffled by their presence. She rested her forehead against the cold stone wall.

_Fuck._

Her head swam with unwanted thoughts, her body still shaking with anger and ten different kinds of emotions she didn’t want to deal with right now. 

She had _trusted_ Emma. It had taken a while, certainly, and she had doubted herself so many times, but in the end she’d finally decided that maybe things weren’t as black and white as she had so believed them to be. She’d gone against _everything_ she knew to put her trust in Emma, but she’d done so wholeheartedly. She thought she had earned the same level of trust from her cousin. She’d apparently been wrong, and it hurt like a knife to the gut. 

Emma didn’t understand. Could never understand. None of them could, not her family or her friends or those dumb, gossiping nobles; not a single person watching the damn shitshow she’d just put on with Emma could possibly understand. 

_A cell, too small and bare to even be called a room; gouges in the walls from her nails and those of countless others before her. Pain searing across her back in cruel lines, too weak and drained of mana for even her meager attempts at healing. The sunburst brand, marking the faces of good people, people who fought as she had, and those who didn’t, those whose crimes were mere fictions. Sneering, cruel faces looming above her. “I’m saving you, Trevelyan. I want to see you_ break _first.”_

Alyx shuddered at the onslaught of unwanted memories, pushing her forehead more firmly against the cold stone.

Anders _knew_. Even if he hadn’t been in the Gallows like her, he knew what it was like to be trapped. To be tortured by your captors. Even if she could find Grier now, Alyx doubted she would understand the way Anders did. _Fuck,_ she missed him so much. Missed him, and was sick with worry for him. She hadn’t heard from him in… well, _too_ long, and with the false Calling…

_Fuck._

Alyx banged her head against the wall, trying to force her brain into silence. All the worry and anger and hurt just whirled around her head endlessly, too many memories that she didn’t want to deal with right now. She was also dimly aware that she’d left half her clothing behind in the main hall, and Skyhold was _cold._

She needed to go back to her room and get another shirt. Or… _or_ she could go to the cellar, and pilfer one of those bottles of dubious and possibly dangerous alcohol. 

_Alcohol_ , she thought, and headed down another hallway to where she knew there was a hidden staircase down to the cellar. The stair led into a large cavernous room framed by two rows of pillars, and Alyx quickly crossed to the other end where she knew she’d find her prize. She slipped into the smaller room, her eyes trailing over the shelves lined with Xander’s odd collection. 

A dusty bottle of something black and vaguely ominous-looking sat on the top shelf. Alyx pushed a crate towards the wall to step up on and retrieve it. Bottle in hand, she sank down onto the crate and uncorked it, taking a deep swig. Deeper than probably wise. The mystery alcohol burned down the back of her throat, strangely thick with an almost chocolatey flavor and an aftertaste like she’d been hit by a sack of bricks. Yep, it would do. 

The drink helped. At first. Too soon, though, the blissful oblivion that came with the rough burn in her throat and the warmth in her limbs gave way to more unbidden memories, all too vivid, and she now lacked the sobriety to shove them to the back of her mind again. 

_That cell, lit only by torchlight creeping through the crack under the door. So unnaturally quiet she’d wondered if the walls were enchanted to absorb sound. Bloodied fingertips where she’d clawed at the walls in moments of desperation, bruises and worse littering her body. Grier would have been able to heal them. Grier. Footsteps in the hallway, and she was so desperate to see another human being she almost forgot to be terrified that they’d finally come for her, that it would be her turn with the brand._

“FUCK!” she yelled aloud, turning to punch the wall behind her. She probably broke something in her hand doing so, but the sharp pain of it and the sting of her bloodied knuckles drew her mind back into the present, and it was worth it. 

She shoved herself up off the crate, and unsteadily stumbled towards the door, bottle still in hand. She’d drunk nearly half of it already, she noticed. Strong stuff. 

She needed to… she needed to not be alone right now. Alone was bad. Alone was too much like… She shuddered, trying to shake the memories from her mind again. When that didn’t work, she flexed her probably-broken hand and the pain did the trick. 

Iris. She would go find Iris. 

She scrambled back up the steps, turning the other way down the hall towards the sleeping quarters. Well, she thought they were that way, but these doors didn’t look familiar. No, this was the wrong way. She turned abruptly, colliding instantly with a heavily armored chest and rebounding backwards. She fell onto her ass with a solid thud that reverberated up her spine. She blinked, dazed by the sudden fall, and it took a moment for her eyes to focus again on the person she’d just run into. 

Blond hair. Shining plate armor. She froze, icy shards of fear driving into her chest. _Knight-Captain._ No. She shook herself, blinking again. Not Knight-Captain anymore. Commander. Commander Cullen, who she was pretty sure was courting her cousin.

“Alyx! Maker’s breath, are you alright?” he cried, immediately reaching out a hand to help her up. She waved him off, scrambling backwards.

“Fine,” she mumbled, shoving herself off the ground. Pain shot up through her hand, and she winced. Luckily, she seemed to have chosen a very sturdy bottle of potentially dangerous mystery alcohol; some had spilled, but the bottle itself was intact and she retrieved it. 

“Are you sure? Your hand—and aren’t you cold?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she said again. “Kni— _Cullen,_ you’re probably trying to help but if you’d kindly fuck off,” she slurred, “I need to find Iris.”

“Alyx,” he said gently, reaching out towards her and then seeming to think better of it. “At least take this,” he added, removing his furry mantle and draping it around her shoulders. As much as she didn’t want to accept his help, the thing really was amazingly warm. She hadn’t even realized how cold she’d been. “And Iris’s room is that way.” He pointed down the hall the way she’d been going. “Take a right, it’s the third door on the left.” 

He looked oddly small without the bulky fur over his shoulders. “Thanks,” she mumbled, forcing the word out before she quickly retreated back down the hall. He followed a few paces behind her until she’d slipped into Iris’s room and shut the door behind her.

Iris was curled in her chair, a book in her hand. It took her a second to look up after Alyx entered the room, but when she did her eyes widened and she set the book on the table next to her, jumping up and rushing across the room to her side. Iris threw her arms around Alyx, holding her tight. Alyx returned the embrace, wincing slightly when her grip at Iris’s back flexed her injured hand. 

After a long moment Iris pulled back, running her small hands gently down Alyx’s arms and leading her towards the bed. Alyx let herself be led, sinking easily onto the bed. Iris sat down next to her, taking her injured hand. With a soft glow and the strange itch of healing magic, the skin and bones knitted themselves back together. Alyx flexed her hand, shaking the strange tingling sensation from her fingertips. 

“Thanks,” she whispered. Iris just nodded, sinking to the floor to unlace Alyx’s boots. Alyx didn’t have it in her to protest the coddling. When both boots were removed, Iris made a grab for the bottle of mystery liquor. Alyx made a noise of protest in her throat.

“Please, Alyx,” Iris said softly.

“You can lecture me about drinking too much tomorrow,” Alyx said, her voice sounding strange and distant to her ears. “Tonight I just… I can’t.”

Iris nodded, and let the subject drop. Alyx let herself be pushed back onto the pillows and tucked under the blankets. Iris climbed into the bed with her, sitting up against the headboard and lifting her gently so Alyx’s head rested in her lap. 

“If you want to talk, I’m listening,” Iris said. Alyx shook her head against Iris’s leg. “Or I could talk for the both of us.”

“I keep…” Alyx swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut. “I keep thinking I’m back there. You were reading something?”

“What? Um, no. It’s nothing.”

“I really don’t care what it is. Read it to me? Anything, just… I can’t be in my head right now.”

“Alright,” Iris said softly. “It’s, um... It’s _Swords and Shields_.”

Alyx looked up to see her cousin’s bright pink cheeks. “ _Nice,_ ” she teased. “Bring it on.” The ghost of a grin passed over her face, and Iris leaned over to grab the book from the table. 

“‘The Knight-Captain was many things, but on this night the only thing she wanted to be was a woman. A woman who would be laid bare and ravished…’”

~~~

Alyx blinked blearily. She really wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but it was difficult to ignore the dull throbbing of her head and the really, _truly_ foul taste in her mouth. 

Iris was curled next to her, still fast asleep. It seemed Alyx had shed Cullen’s furry mantle in her sleep, because Iris had appropriated it and was cuddling the thing, her face pressed into the fur. Alyx grinned.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, watching in anticipation as Iris blinked slowly. Realization washed over her face and she blushed scarlet. 

“Good morning.”

“You’re getting awfully friendly with the Commander’s mantle, there,” Alyx teased. 

“It’s _warm_ , okay? Why did you have it, anyway?” Iris asked.

“If you didn’t notice, I left my shirt on the floor in the middle of the main hall,” Alyx said lightly, trying not to think too much about the circumstances in which her shirt had wound up there. “The Commander was kind enough to lend me his mantle.”

“I thought you hated him,” Iris said in an inquisitive tone.

Alyx made a vague noise in her throat. “I guess he’s not entirely terrible.” 

Iris smiled. “So are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?”

“Do we have to?” Alyx groaned.

“Okay, fine, we don’t have to talk about that, but... you really travelled with Anders?”

“Oh not you too, Iris,” Alyx groaned, rolling her face into the pillow.

“No no no, I promise, it’s just… _the_ Anders?”

“Yes, _the_ Anders. Okay, I can tell you’re dying to bombard me with questions, let’s just get this over with,” she sighed.

“Why the Chantry? I know that the propaganda says, but did he tell you why?”

“Well, you sure don’t pull your punches.” She sighed. “Something had to be done. Anything less, and they’d just hush it up again, maintain the status quo. Anders removed the chance for compromise. It was awful, yes, but… so was the system he was trying to break. And it worked. We’re free.”

“How long did you travel with him? How did you even meet him? Wait—did you meet _Hawke_? Because if you met Hawke and didn’t tell me—”

“I didn’t meet Hawke. I saw her, certainly. In battle. She was… she was something else. I’m not certain how much use I was, though, fighting against Meredith. No training, half-starved, wielding a stolen staff. After that, Hawke and her friends left. I… followed. That’s when I met him.”

_He was tall, a few inches taller than she was at least, though he currently stood with his shoulders slumped, gripping his staff for support. The harsh lines of his face suggested he was too thin under the artificial bulk of the feathered pauldrons on his coat._

_“You’re_ him _,” Alyx said. “Aren’t you?”_

_He said nothing, but she saw his eyes close, his grip tighten on his staff._

_“Anders,” she said, the way one might whisper a secret._

_“Whatever you’re going to do, please just get it over with.”_

_He sounded tired, his voice dull and lifeless as he stared at the ground._

_“I—” she started, but immediately faltered. What words could possibly suffice for what he had done? Even if she had any particular gift for words she doubted she would be able to find the right ones. With three quick strides she closed the space between them and threw her arms around his waist; his feathers tickled her chin. He seemed frozen, obviously taken aback by the sudden contact. His arms were stiff, outstretched slightly in midair._

_“_ Thank you _,” she whispered, tears she hadn’t known she was still capable of suddenly running down her cheeks._

_Slowly his arms encircled her, his hands coming to rest across her back. It had been such a long time since anyone had held her, and she buried her face in his feathery shoulder to muffle the choked sobs that she couldn’t hold back._

_“We need to get out of here,” he said, and if his voice was still a bit flat, Alyx thought it at least sounded slightly less empty. She nodded, quickly scrubbing the tears from her face._

_“Lead the way,” she said, holding her stolen staff at the ready._

Alyx shook herself slightly. “We got out of Kirkwall together. Stayed out of sight, mostly. He started training me in combat magic. I would say he helped me make my spirit blade, but mostly he just sat and looked vaguely concerned while _I_ made it. I was with him until I went into Redcliffe. I was supposed to go in, get information, and then meet up with him again, but, well… you know the rest of that tale.”

Iris nodded slowly, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Is he really _joined_ with a spirit?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Iris’s eyes went wide, her brow furrowing slightly in thought. “How does that work? I mean well I know how it works, it’s just...how does he make it work?”

“Fuck if I know. I’m not sure if he even knows. Alright, what else?”

Iris pursed her lips. “Oh, I don’t know. What’s he like?”

“Hmm. He’s been through more than any person should have to go through, and come out the other side. He cares. He cares _so much_. I think it nearly kills him sometimes. Despite everything, he manages to have a sense of humor, to still take pleasure in the small things, even when the good moments are few and far between.” _He also knows this wicked little trick with electricity,_ she very pointedly didn’t say. Of course, this was Iris though, to whom Alyx had always been an open book. Iris’s eyes very suddenly went as wide as saucers.

“Alyx, you didn’t!” Iris cried.

“Didn’t? Didn’t _what_?” Alyx said flippantly, a smirk spreading across her face.

“Tell me you didn’t have—have _sex_ with him!” Iris sputtered.

“Well, if it’ll make you feel better I can tell you that, but—”

“ _Maker’s breath_ , you did!”

Alyx laughed. “Yeah. I did.”

“But why?”

“Why not?” She sighed. “I was drunk, he was drunk. I care about him. Sometimes… sometimes you just need to feel something real, you know?”

“Well sure, but it’s over so fast do you really feel anything?” Iris replied with a tilt to her head.

“It wasn’t over _that_ fast. Grey Warden stamina is a _thing,_ ” Alyx said with a smirk.

“I guess it helps to not have to keep an ear and eye out for Templars patrolling the halls. The few times I’ve even had a chance to do that were over so quickly I wondered why we even bothered.”

“Yeah, not having to look over your shoulder for Templars every two seconds does help. Having an actual _bed_ and not just some hidden nook also helps.”

“Not like it ever stopped you and Grier,” Iris said with a giggle that dissipated at the look on Alyx’s face. “I’m sorry, oh I am sorry. I shouldn’t, I should have known better.”

“No, don’t. I don’t want us to just _not_ talk about her ever,” Alyx said, swallowing thickly. “Enough about my depressing life though. Speaking of _sex_ , why are you not having it with our golden Commander?”

Iris blushed bright pink from her cheeks to her ears and buried her head in her hands. She mumbled something that Alyx could not understand despite putting her ear as close to her as possible.

“What was that? I’m sorry—I didn’t quite catch what you said,” Alyx teased.

“I said ‘how do you even know I am interested in him and his stupid face?’”

“I _know_ you, Iris. You were cuddling his mantle in your sleep. Besides, you wouldn’t call his face stupid if you didn’t actually think it was very much not stupid and actually rather handsome, am I right? I bet you want to run your tongue _all over_ that scar of his, don’t you?”

Iris’s eyes widened so much they nearly overtook her face and she colored from pink to bright crimson, but to her credit did not bury her face again.

“No, I do not think about doing that,” she stated before taking a deep breath. “His face is stupid because it makes my knees wobble, and his voice is stupid because I get this fluttery feeling in my chest whenever I hear it. The Commander is stupid and I hate him and his stupid golden hair that actually shines when the sun hits it. I hate him and I hate all the ways he makes me feel.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Alyx asked, serious suddenly as she studied her cousin’s face. Iris nodded and there were hints that she was close to tears.

“I do, and I keep hoping the feeling will go away. I want it to go away; it's not _fair_.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” Alyx said, understanding in her voice. “Iris… I know I’ve said things about Cullen in the past. The things he did in Kirkwall were awful, but maybe that shouldn’t define him. He’s really trying, I think. And I think you two could really be good for each other.”

“I know about Kirkwall, from both of you. He told me...he told me quite a lot. Probably left a few details out to spare me, but I know he’s not that person anymore,” Iris replied, her head down as she toyed with her thumbs. “Who he was isn’t the problem, it’s me...I’m the problem.”

“Why would you say that?” Alyx asked, her brow knitting together in worry.

“Because I’m a mage, and I shouldn’t be consorting with non-mages. No one wants a future with someone who could be locked back up if all of this goes up in flames. I’m not supposed to consort with anyone but my own kind—you and Grier. You always said that anyone who wasn’t one of us could never be trusted and they would never understand us.”

“Fuck, don’t listen to me!” Alyx said, sighing. “Look… I’ve seen the way Cullen looks at you. As much as I’ve sometimes wished it were not the case, he does want all of those things with you. If you think he could make you happy, you don’t let anything stand in the way of that, do you hear me?”

“What if we have to go back? What if they take all of this away from us?”

Alyx’s eyes flashed with barely hidden anger. “I won’t let that happen. And even if it did… are you going to let a chance of something shitty happening keep you from living your life? Whatever the future holds, we have our freedom _now._ You should use it.”

“So what just go marching down to his office and plant one right on him? I’d have to get a step stool if he’s standing up you realize that right?” Iris said sardonically, with a look in her eyes that Alyx knew came from her.

“That’s my girl,” Alyx said with a grin. “And you shouldn’t need a step stool, just pull him down by that gorgeous golden hair of his. I’m sure he’ll be willing enough.”

“You’re going to zap me in the behind if I don’t get moving this instant aren't you?”

“Yep,” Alyx said, nodding sagely.

Alyx nearly pushed her out the door before Iris pointed out that she was still in her nightgown. Ignoring comments about ‘one less article of clothing to worry about,’ Iris set about dressing herself in a simple red dress—one that she knew made her pale skin ethereal and her black hair shine. She played with her hair a moment before seeing Alyx’s reflection in her mirror, sparks dancing between her fingers with a menacing grin.

“You’d have me go kiss a man with bed head?” Iris remarked with raised eyebrows.

“Something tells me he won’t mind,” Alyx quipped. “Makes it easier to picture what he’ll wake up to in the morning.”

Iris gave a huff of indignation and left the room, quickly dodging Alyx’s attempt to smack her on the bottom. She felt light on her feet and practically danced through the hall on her way to the rotunda. But as she got to the bridge that led to the Cullen’s tower, hesitation and doubt set in. She felt her heart flutter in her chest and thought for a moment she’d rather just let Alyx zap her until her hair stood on end. That might have been preferable to the sheer terror she felt at even _hinting_ to Cullen that she had feelings for him. But she remembered what Alyx had told her and how she felt whenever he smiled—the ache in her gut when his hands brushed over her arms in training; the way his voice carried through her and made her feel as though she was floating...

_What's the worst that can happen?_

She began to cross the bridge, but when she reached the halfway point, a nagging voice bit through her thoughts.

_He could laugh in your face. Call you a filthy mage. Tell you that you’re nothing but a child with a crush. Or he could just ignore you forever and you’ll have to leave the Inquisition in embarrassment._

She went to turn around and saw Alyx standing in the doorway of the rotunda. Her menacing grin was gone. So too were the sparks in her hands that she had gleefully brandished earlier. Instead, Alyx smiled at her and nodded for her to go forward. Iris felt a surge of bravery flow through her at the simple gesture. She dashed towards the doors to Cullen’s office, not wanting to waste any more time. Not even bothering to knock, she opened the door and shut it behind her quickly before slowly turning around. She looked around, puzzled at the emptiness. _Where was he?_

She heard a slight groan and, with a sick twist of dread, realized he was collapsed on the floor behind his desk. Running over, she knelt over him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He lay on his side as though his legs had given out on him as he tried desperately to pull himself up.

"Cullen,” she exclaimed, brushing her fingers over the bare skin of his neck. “Are you alright!?"

"I'm fine, I... hello,” he said, gazing up at her. His eyes were glazed over. Judging by the flush on his cheeks and the sheen of sweat over his brow, he seemed feverish.

"Cullen?" Iris asked, taking his hand in hers. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and she could feel the calluses on her skin.

"My goodness aren't you just…” Cullen was grinning widely, his eyes dreamy. He tilted his head slowly, like he was forgetting something important. “How do you know my name?"

"Cullen, do you... do you know who I am?" She spoke gently around the sudden fear in her throat, cupping a hand under his chin.

"No, but I'd like to,” he purred, his lips pulling back into a soft grin. “You might just be the most _beautiful_ woman I have ever seen.”

“Cullen, it’s Iris,” she whimpered, resisting the urge to shake him. “Please tell me you know me!”

“Iris. That's such a pretty name. Such a pretty name for such a pretty...Iris?” Recognition set in and he shut his eyes tight as his body trembled in sudden pain.

“Oh thank the Maker,” she sighed with relief. “Cullen, what happened?”

He didn't answer. Instead, he tried sitting up again. But his arm didn't seem to be capable of holding his weight. Iris managed to slide herself close enough to catch his head into her lap as he fell.

“We need to get you to a healer!” Iris said, pressing her palm against his forehead. _Maker, he’s burning up!_

“No!” he cried, trying frantically to lever himself up before finally slumping defeated against her legs. “No one else needs to know about this.” He rolled onto his back and stared up at her, gasping in pain as the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead intensified.

“Why? What’s wrong? What is happening to you?” 

“Lyrium withdrawal—it will pass—just please, I don't want anyone to know,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What can I do? Just tell me what you need,” she said softly, stroking her fingers along his cheeks. The stubble on his face rasped against her knuckles, and with a soft moan he leaned into the touch. 

“Stay here with me. Please, talk to me...anything... _don’t leave me_ ,” he begged, biting back tears. Iris shushed him and stroked her fingers through his hair, running her nails along his scalp. He closed his eyes and a light smile slowly appeared on his face. A soft sound rumbled in his throat, and Iris watched, entranced, as his Adam’s apple bobbed with his breath.

“I’ll stay as long as you need. What shall I talk about though?” She asked him.

“Tell me your favorite story,” he sighed. She never noticed how long his lashes were as they fanned across his cheeks.

“That could take quite some time. It's a very long tale,” she said with a laugh, trying to calm her erratic, rabbit heartbeat.

“I have plenty of it right now,” he said, looking up at her with such... _vulnerability_ in his eyes. She felt her breath catch as her fingers twitched in his curls. They were _so soft_. “Please? I do very much enjoy the sound of your voice.”


	29. Chapter 29

Cullen and Iris were circling one another in the training yard. She had been insistent on twice daily practice sessions with him once Xander requested her to be on his team for the siege. He admired her dedication. They were going through practice motions when something flew off her body and landed near his feet. Looking down, he saw that it was a necklace. He picked it up. An odd mixture of items all hung from the simple leather cord—a button, an earring, what looked to be a dragon scale, even a tiny wooden nug. Iris looked at him sheepishly and held her hand out for the necklace.

“What are they?” He asked turning over the objects in his hands.

“My good luck charms.”

“This is one of Xander’s earrings,” he remarked, recognizing the small hoop.

“Yes. Some were given to me, others I acquired through chance. The button belonged to Alyx. It popped off her jacket that day in Haven when she and Emma nearly fought in front of the Chantry. I picked it up and then I just kept finding more things to hold onto.”

“So where did all the others come from then?”

“That requires a bit of explanation.”

“Well, consider this us taking a break. Tell me Iris; I’d love to hear.”

They sat on the ground in the training yard and Iris told him the story behind her trinkets. The ribbon had been Emma’s, tying up her hair until it had frayed and ripped down the middle. She had kept the one half and tied it into a neat bow. She had mentioned to Blackwall a love of nugs and he carved the charm for her as a present. Bull gave her the dragon scale after her fiery display in the tavern. Varric had been tending to Bianca and had tossed away the bent gear he was replacing, so Iris pocketed it. Vivienne had not even noticed the pearl that had come flying off her jacket and Iris never bothered giving it back to her. She had been in the garden with a book when a white feather had landed in her lap, she looked up to see Sebastian fletching arrows. She had commented on how beautiful the feather was and Sebastian had told her to keep it. 

“What about the rock?” Cullen asked, noticing a hole had been bored into it so it could be strung along the cord.

“Cole gave it to me.”

“Cole?”

She had been in the basement library poring over maps of Adamant, memorizing its walkways, making sure she knew every entry and exit point when her veilfire flickered in the air. She looked up knowing she would see him in the doorway. He always waited in the doorway for her to look up. He approached her silently and handed her a small pebble.

_“It got into my shoe when we were in the Exalted Plains. I know you wanted to go there, so I brought you a part of it.”_

“Once Sera found out about my little collection she decided she wanted to add a piece as well. Gave the cork from one of her fire vials, said it always makes her think of me when she breaks one.” Iris smiled while her fingers toyed with the little stopper. 

The buckle was easily recognized as coming from one of Dorian’s rather flamboyant outfits. Iris admitted that she had snuck down to the training grounds and snatched a bit of straw from Cassandra’s prefered fighting dummy, too shy to ask her for anything. The final charm was a small bit of drakestone Solas had picked up in the Hinterlands. It had a strange glow to it and Iris told him it had been fade touched after being in close proximity to a rift.

“So you’ve collected little pieces of the Inquisition.”

“I feel like they bring me luck. So long as I have them, nothing bad can happen to anyone.” Iris tied the leather cord back in place around her neck and looked down at it with a smile. “Cullen, is it wrong to be afraid?”

Cullen’s gaze was warm and he gave her a small smile, but whatever his answer might have been was interrupted by a cough. They looked up to see Alyx standing by the outer fence of the training yard with a smirk on her face.

“Oh sorry, am I interrupting something?” she said with a shit-eating grin.

“Just a short break in training; did you need me?” Iris asked blushing pink.

“Harritt sent me to find the Commander, actually. I was hoping _he_ could tell me what this is about?”

“Oh good—he and Dagna must have finished the commissions. Ladies, if you will accompany me to the Undercroft, I have a surprise for both of you.”

He did his best to not chuckle at the puzzled looks shared between Iris and Alyx as they followed him into the main keep. He could hear them whisper quietly to each other as they kept two paces behind him. He opened the door to the Undercroft and gestured for them to walk in. The gasps from both of them as they reached the bottom of the stairs made him smile.

Two sets of gleaming armor were arranged on a table by the entrance. He couldn’t suppress a grin as Iris and Alyx both gravitated towards the set of armor meant for them. He’d had a hand in helping design Iris’s himself; the armored robes were modeled loosely after those worn by the Warden mages. 

“A lot of the Warden mages use fire magic, so we decided to work with their schematics to build you proper battle armor. The Commander put a lot of thought into the materials as well. The right leather and metal to help keep the heat off you and on the enemies instead,” Dagna explained. The bulk of the armor was a supple red leather, for better mobility. Bloodstone mail in place of iron to prevent overheating, and fingerless gloves. Where the Wardens would display a griffon pauldron, hers bore the eye of the Inquisition.

“You designed this for me?” Iris turned to him with a wide-eyed smile. Cullen held back a furious blush and nodded silently. He watched happily as she ran her fingers over the leather and chattered away with Dagna, asking about different properties for fire runes.

Alyx’s armor had been designed to accommodate her… rather _unique_ fighting style. Sturdy mail with gleaming pauldrons and chestplate to protect her from blows her barrier didn’t catch; heavy leather at the waist to preserve her range of motion, more protective plating over the hips; heavily armored boots with dangerous looking spikes at the toe and heel. The dark leather underneath made the shining, vaguely bluish-purple hue of the metal all the more striking. 

“ _You_ had this made for _me?_ ” Alyx asked incredulously. 

Cullen cleared his throat nervously. “Um, no, actually. That was the Battlemaster’s doing.

“Oh,” Alyx said quietly, swallowing thickly as she eyed the armor again, looking conflicted.

“Emma helped me design it special, just for you,” Dagna piped in. “It’s made to channel excess energy away from the body—good for you, bad for whoever you’re fighting,” she added with a grin.

“It’s… it’s perfect,” Alyx said, though she seemed as though she didn’t want to admit it. She ran her fingers across the breastplate, an odd, faraway expression on her face. “Thank you, Commander,” she added tersely, giving him a stiff nod. 

“Of course,” he said. “Now, if you ladies would excuse me, I must see to the final preparations for Adamant.” 

“Oh, yes! You must have so much to do. We’ll let you get back to it,” Iris said. “Thank you though, Cullen. It’s lovely.”

“You’re quite welcome,” he responded.

He took one final look over his shoulder as he left; Alyx had picked up one dangerously spiked boot to examine it, and Iris was still stroking the supple leather of her armor. Cullen smiled to himself as he ascended the stairs back to the main hall. 

~~~

Alyx hefted her pack over her shoulder as she strode across the courtyard towards the stables. She still felt slightly self-conscious of her new armor; it fit her like a damn glove, but it was polished to a high sheen, demanding attention where the leather armor she usually favored was inconspicuous. It rankled, too, that it was Emma who’d had the set commissioned for her. She’d almost wanted to refuse it, but she knew that leather, no matter how sturdy, would not be suitable for an open siege.

“Alyx, wait!”

She turned; Zane was jogging across the courtyard towards her.

“Hey,” she said. “I was worried I wouldn’t see you again before we left.”

“I’m sorry. After… what happened the other day, Bull told me I should give you some time. I wanted to find you, afterwards, to…”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Alyx muttered, scrunching her nose.

“ _No_ ,” Zane snapped. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. If I had known what you went through in there, what they _did_ to you… I should have _done_ something!”

“There was nothing you could have done, Zane. They would have only taken you, too. You did the right thing, staying the hell away.” She caught his eyes, and he nodded slowly. “I meant what I said before; I’m proud of you, baby brother.”

She didn’t miss the slight flush to his cheeks, but his nose wrinkled and he frowned at her. 

“I am a _pirate captain_ , you know. I’m not your baby brother anymore,” he said, gesturing with a finger. 

“You’ll always be my baby brother, baby brother,” Alyx said with a wide grin and punched him in the arm. Zane groaned and rolled his eyes. “You’ll come back after we return from Adamant, yeah? I want to hear all about those _adventures_ of yours, _Captain!_ ” 

Zane ignored her mocking and gave her a genuine smile. “Wouldn’t miss it, sister. And good luck.”

“Thanks, Zane,” Alyx said, sobering at the thought of what was ahead. “I have a bad feeling we’re going to need it.”

~~~

The weather had gradually shifted to something warmer and drier than that of the Dales. Fenris scowled at the plans laid out over the rough-hewn table in the central camp. He remembered this little outpost—the Inquisitor had established it his first visit to the Approach. This meant Adamant was likely a mere day’s march from them. It wouldn’t be long now. The tension in the camp was palpable. The bulk of the forces were dotted along before and behind them, the Inquisitor nestled safely between his two fields of soldiers.

Cullen had a solid plan, it seemed—Fenris had to smirk a bit. Who knew the young, zealous man he’d known in Kirkwall had such a keen military mind? Fenris wasn’t quite sure what his purpose was, but Hawke was off doing Maker-knows-what, and he’d long ago learned not to disturb her on her so-called mystery errands. The one time he did, he’d nearly ended up with purple hair. He shuddered deeply at the memory. So instead of being idle and ripe for probing questions from strangers, he busied himself over solidified plans. He twitched his nose when he saw an unguarded flank. While it wasn’t significant, given the variables they were dealing with, it seemed prudent to cover all their bases. He considered telling the Commander…

“Fenris,” a familiar voice said, slicing through Fenris’s thought. Sebastian came into his peripheral vision, leaning over the table Fenris was so scrutinizing. “I didn’t know you had a mind for military movements.”

“Sebastian,” Fenris murmured with a nod, turning back to the maps. “I don’t, really. But I did notice an unguarded flank. It’s possible the Commander knows something I don’t.”

Sebastian turned his head to look at the map of troop movements before letting out a low whistle; “I never would have noticed that, had you not pointed it out; now, it’s all I can see. It’s glaringly obvious.”

“Once again,” Fenris interrupted. “The Commander may know something I don’t.”

“Still impressive you caught it without context,” Sebastian offered with a shrug. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“My eye for maps and patterns?” Fenris asked sardonically. “Hawke won’t play Diamondback with me anymore because of it—caused me nothing but trouble.”

“Well, I suppose it has something to do with that,” Sebastian replied with a shrug. “Do you remember… Maker, was it really nearly ten years ago now? But do you remember when I told you that you should return to Starkhaven with me?”

“I seem to recall you wanted me to train men to fight like me,” Fenris said. “And if you’re here to offer again, I would have to decline.”

“I wasn’t exactly subtle,” Sebastian replied, scratching at the back of his neck. “I was hoping I could at least _offer_ the job of Royal Guard Captain before you turned it down. But may I ask why?”

Fenris sighed, running his hands through the front of his hair, making an annoyed noise under his breath when his fingers snagged on the leather tie holding the tail in place; Fenris could think of at least a dozen different reasons not to go to Starkhaven, but one stood prominently in his mind; “I can’t leave Hawke. Not ever.”

Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes; “Honestly, Fenris, you don’t think I wouldn’t invite Hawke as well? I say it’s high time Starkhaven had a Court Enchanter—it really has been far too long.”

“I’m not sure where Hawke will want to go after all this,” Fenris rejoined. 

“So talk to her about it,” Sebastian suggested. “Call me presumptuous, but I think she may be amenable to the idea.”

“You’re being presumptuous,” Fenris said dryly. 

“Regardless,” Sebastian countered. “What is this about, Fenris?”

Fenris pursed his lips, glowering at a spot on the ground. It was odd—with his finery and beaten-gold crown, he often forgot this Prince of Starkhaven was still his friend Sebastian who saw too much and understood more. They’d always had an agreement, and that agreement was to be honest. As far as Fenris knew, Sebastian had held up his end… 

“I’m not worthy of the position,” Fenris answered. “And before you argue with me, I think you aren’t the best person to make that judgement.”

“I don’t think you are, either,” Sebastian riposted, though his soft, reassuring smile didn’t budge. 

“We fought together, Sebastian,” Fenris sighed. “We know each other on a battlefield as well as any two men can—you don’t have problems with… my background or my methods, but you can’t guarantee others won’t. I _know_ how hard you worked for Starkhaven, and I won’t see that wasted by your charitable soul.”

He could see Sebastian’s argument in his eyes, and Fenris dug in ready to counter, but all his friend did was sigh deeply; “If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“Then I suppose I can’t argue with you,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “Just know that if you _ever_ change your mind, no matter when or where it is, my offer is always open. Take care, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded at his friend before he turned back towards the table. Reaching for a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick, he scribbled a note to the Commander about the open flank. He also tried to stamp down the swell of pride he felt at the prospect. 

_Maybe, if Hawke is amenable… maybe making a real home wouldn’t be so bad._

~~~

The confidence exuded by the Commander and the King had possibly put Xander _too much_ at ease. They hadn’t reached the forward camps until late in the afternoon, and by the time they’d brought their machines of war to the fortress, the sun was setting and the Wardens were dug in. Mabari forces, their soldiers, and the Chargers had rushed into the fray. Thankfully, it seemed many of the Wardens had holed up behind the walls; unfortunately, that meant demons. And _Maker,_ there were a lot of them. So many, in fact, that Xander feared perhaps he was too late. 

The Wardens were deeply entrenched on the walls, pelting the Inquisition forces as they slowly encroached. Xander felt phenomenally useless as Cullen insisted he stay back with the reserves. As much as he wanted to trust his Commander’s judgement, he still thought he could be at least marginally useful on the front lines. Emma was maintaining that careful distance that only came with seeing more battles than a girl of her age ever should have seen, while Alyx and Iris sat in stony silence. Iris kept running her fingers over the Pyrophite hilt of her spirit blade. It was obvious she wasn’t comfortable with the item yet, and it appeared she and Emma hadn’t made amends enough for her to reach out for assistance. Part of him wanted to grab all three girls by the hair, yank them into a locked room, and make them talk it out, but Bull had been very clear—they _had_ to work it out on their own. 

His musings were interrupted when the familiar _thud_ of the trebuchets echoed about the fortress; it appeared the Fereldan sappers were in place, and the siege engineers were hard at work. Cheers rang through the valley as rock and stone exploded outward and the assault kept coming. It was then that the siege of Adamant began in earnest. Fire rained over their heads, crashing into the walls of that great fortress. It was at that time when Brinn and Zevran slipped into the darkness, shooting sharp salutes to the Inquisitor. Hawke, Sebastian, and Fenris had left with the forward lines, shrouded in heavy cloaks lest they be recognized and distract the others—or worse, draw undue attention to themselves. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Xander saw the signal flare go up—two arrows. It meant the war ram was on its way, and it was time for his team to get into position. He nodded at the girls, who fell into quick formation with the troops that would accompany the vast war machine. Bull had worked long and hard with the troops, trying to help them erect a decent shield wall, and it was paying off. The Wardens rained everything on their heads, from arrows to stones. The sickening crunch of a soldier being crushed neath the heavy limestone made shivers run up and down his spine, but Xander kept himself focused straight ahead. He couldn’t afford to be distracted—the ram had made a crack in the front gates. 

Iris visibly jumped when the dead body of an armored figure—most likely a Warden—dropped from the top of the ramparts to land with a wet _thud_ next to them. Xander reached out to steel her, but the troops had just broken through into the Lower Bailey, and it was a nightmare. Wardens swarmed through the tight area, intermingling with Xander’s people, making combat difficult. But not impossible. 

Emma quickly erected a barrier before Iris and Alyx broke off into the main fray. Xander held the door, swinging his weapon in wide, punishing arcs. Iris dotted the ground with treacherous patches of fire mines, while Alyx channeled lightning along her arms toward her spirit blade. Xander couldn’t help but notice that, despite their fight, the girls were only slightly out of sync. Emma couldn’t move as quickly as she normally did for fear of activating the mines; while Alyx couldn’t be as aggressive as she normally was for fear of hitting allies. Xander took on more warriors than they did as the Wardens slipped past them into his range. 

Finally, the ground blood soaked and choked with bodies, Xander heard a call from the ramparts; “Pull back! They’re through!”

“Alright, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, approaching from behind. “You have your way in—best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host occupied as long as we can!”

Xander caught the fallen body of a comrade out of the corner of his eye and shook his head; “I’ll be fine. Just keep the men safe—no unnecessary risks, Commander.”

“We’ll do what we have to!” Cullen exclaimed, shooting an arched brow at Iris. “Warden Tabris is already within the Keep, gathering her team, and Hawke is assisting our men on the battlements.”

“What’s happening on the battlements?” Emma asked suddenly. 

“There are too many demons,” Cullen answered frankly. “Our men on the ladders can’t get a foothold, but we’ll do what we can.”

Xander didn’t need the quiet plea in Cullen’s voice or the silent entreaty in Emma’s eyes to know he would happily assist on the battlements; “I’ll take care of it. Just cover my advance!”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, snapping into a sharp salute. His eyes flickered over Xander’s should briefly, something small and tentative glowing in his gaze. “Please… take care of her. _Please_?”

Xander arched his brow knowingly, but nodded silently as the men turned to their work. Adamant wasn’t small, nor was it properly laid out. Paths that weren’t blocked by fallen debris led to nowhere, staircases went in no discernable direction, and worst of all—piles of sand. Xander was beginning to think that if he never saw sand again, it would be all too soon. 

“Stay back! We won’t be sacrificed for some insane ritual!”

Warden mages, surrounded by their Demon thralls, were advancing on a group of warriors. A fire-red flash in the darkness told him Brinn was approaching, and Zevran would not be far behind. Xander scurried down the stairs, hitting an unaware Warden spellbinder upside the head with the pommel of his sword. The man crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut, but unfortunately, he’d already set his ice mines. With an eruption of frozen crystals beneath his boots, Xander was tossed backwards. Pain lanced up his side and back; his ears rang with the force of his impact with the stones below. He levered himself up to his elbows to try and rejoin the fray, but he couldn’t move his left shoulder at all.

Distantly, he heard Brinn yell into the night; “Carver! Nathaniel! Velanna!”

“Yes, Commander!” An unfamiliar voice—Fereldan in origin, most likely—answered. 

Three Wardens, more battle-beaten and yet somehow, more imposing than the dozens of others surrounding them stood against the tide. A slim, dark haired man with hawkish features fired from his sturdy recurve; a blonde, elven mage with a daring undercut was summoning vines from beneath their feet; a tall, broad young man with dark hair twisted in a messy knot atop his head and dove-grey eyes swung his greatsword in massive, controlled arcs that somehow managed to miss allies and drive into enemies with pristine precision. It was almost like a work of art. 

This was Brinn’s team… or at least part of it. 

“Inquisitor!” Brinn shouted, dropping to her feet and rolling to his side. Her daggers flickered out, slashing across a mage’s throat. A glimmer of regret flashed across her features, gone as quickly as it came, before she dropped to Xander’s side. “Inquisitor, are you alright? Unfortunately, Velanna is sort of rubbish at healing spells, but I have elfroot.”

“No, I’m alright,” Xander growled, springing to his feet. “Just careless stepping, that’s all. Where’s Zevran?”

“Here and there,” Brinn answered with a smirk and a toss of her head toward the shadows. A glint of metal and the mere whisper of a shadow told Xander the assassin’s precise location, and he had the feeling he only saw Zevran was because he was allowed to. 

“The warriors?” Xander asked. 

“They fell back,” Brinn said. “I sent them back to the entrance so they wouldn’t be hurt.”

“Good,” Xander said. “We need as many Wardens as possible; I might like to even spare the mages, if we can.”

“I understand if we can’t,” Brinn said. “But thank you.”

“Keep them off me,” Xander ordered. “See if you can find pockets of resistance and meet me at the center.”

“Clarel will be there,” Brinn growled. “I want my chance at her, so make sure to save her for me.”

“You’re the boss,” Xander quipped. “I’m going to find Hawke on the battlements.”

“Luck be with you, Inquisitor,” Brinn called with a sharp salute. 

If the Keep proper was a mess, the battlements were worse. Demons swarmed around the ladders, sending Inquisition soldiers to their deaths. Xander and the girls managed to clear most of them out before Emma’s spine stiffened visibly. Mere seconds later, they heard the tell-tale cackle of a Pride Demon. Thankfully, it seemed Hawke and her companions had already taken up strong positions. 

Sebastian, in his lacquered white-and-gold armor, would have been the most noticeable _thing_ on the battlements if not for Fenris. The warrior was glowing like a beacon, dashing back and forth between enemies with guttural war cries. A woman with a dark pixie cut and armored wolf-fur robes was summoning lightning storms all while conjuring fists made of earth and stone. 

“Hawke?” Xander called, recognizing the bladed staff. When had _she_ had time to lop off all of her hair?

“Hey, Xander!” Hawke said, ruffling her short black hair. “Ah, it’s good to be back. The braid was killing me!”

“Hawke, I hate to interrupt,” Fenris yelled. “But _Pride Demon!_ ” 

“Oh, right!” Hawke returned her attention to the battle at hand. Sadly, her lightning bounced harmlessly off the Pride Demon’s hide. “As you can see, having a _bit_ of trouble with that. Perhaps the ladies can help?”

“It would be our pleasure,” Emma snarled, a manic glee glinting in her eyes as she brandished her spirit blade. The other two followed reluctantly, if silently. 

Xander’s arms were burning with exertion as he fought the Wardens and Shades closing in their position. He held the ladder while Alyx, Emma, and Iris circled the Pride Demon. It was weidling long whips of purple lightning, its shockingly human laugh coming from that monstrous maw. Emma circled the thing with ice mines, leaving channels for them to dart in and out of its range. Alyx saw quickly her lightning would have no effect, so she had to get into close range. 

“Emma!” She called sharply. “Barrier!”

“On it,” Emma replied, shoring the barrier around Alyx and Iris. She then brandished her blade, dashing in to slash at the thing’s legs, while Iris danced around the edges of the crackling ice mines. Alyx came in with a wild, overhand swing, cleaving the thing from the highest point she could reach all the way to the middle of it’s thigh. 

The Pride Demon gave an inhuman roar that echoed across the battlements and stopped the battle in its tracks. Emma clamped her hands over her ears, wincing in pain and stumbling back a few steps. Iris was well out of range, and Alyx was left over extended. 

The Anchor tingled, like it was trying to tell him something… like it was reminding him that yes, it was there. He remembered the maneuver he pulled after the avalanche in Haven and he wondered… he shook out his hand, throwing it upwards towards the demon. He growled in frustration when it just crackled. 

“Come on! Do the _thing!_ ” Xander shouted. Almost like it obeyed his command, a shimmering rift appeared above the Pride Demon’s head, pulling it back into the Fade where it belonged. Everyone was silent, and Hawke was looking at him with open, naked curiosity. 

“I’m sorry, but did you just shout at your hand ‘do the thing?’” Hawke asked, arching her brow. 

“I think the fact he created a rift is a bit more pressing,” Fenris said, scowling at the Anchor. 

“But he said ‘do the thing’, Fenris! And it _worked!_ ” Hawke countered. 

Xander shook his head, shaking out his marked hand until the crackling and tingling stopped; “Watch my men, Hawke. Sebastian. Fenris. Keep them safe.”

“Can do,” Hawke replied. “Clarel is in the center courtyard—down those stairs and through the doors. We’ll join you as soon as we can!”

~~~

“Wardens!” Clarel shouted as Xander shoved his way through the crowd. The slender, older mage in her Warden armor paced the raised platform, holding rapt the attention of those gathered at her feet. “We are _betrayed_ by the very world we have sworn to protect!”

“The Inquisition is _inside_ , Clarel!” Erimond said, tapping his foot impatiently. “There’s no time to stand on ceremony!”

“These men and women are giving their _lives_ , Magister!” Clarel protested, crossing her arms stubbornly. “That might mean little in Tevinter, but to the Wardens it is a sacred _duty!_ ”

Xander saw an older man walking up to Clarel with purpose. He was without fear or hesitation, and Xander knew in that moment he couldn’t save him. He wouldn’t be able to save _anyone_ if Clarel did this! With a smooth motion, Clarel drew her dagger across her comrade’s throat, and the man crumpled to the stones. Xander’s movements drew Erimond’s attention as the magister turned towards the encroaching party. 

“Stop them!” The magister called. “We must complete the ritual!”

Brinn and Hawke came crashing through the doors, surging towards Erimond. Carver, Nathaniel and Velanna flanked Brinn with grim determination as several Warden warriors reached for their blades. Xander held up his hand in hopes of minimizing bloodshed. Four mages were working at the massive Rift in the center of the courtyard, and something _huge_ lingered just on the other side. 

“Please, Clarel!” Xander pleaded. “Stop this! Erimond may act like he has your best interests at heart, but he doesn’t!”

“It is in _everyone’s_ interests to stop the Blights!” Erimond protested floridly. “And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice! Hate the Wardens for it if you must, but don’t hate them for doing their duty!”

“I understand the Warden’s duty better than anyone!” Brinn exclaimed. “I _fought_ the Archdemon in Ferelden! You all know this!”

“Warden Commander Tabris,” Clarel said, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve betrayed us… you took those loyal to the Order and turned from your duty! You of all people know the Wardens will do what they must!”

“Don’t do this, Clarel!” Hawke interjected, more serious than Xander could remember her being. “We’ve seen our share of Blood Magic, and it is never worth the cost!”

Xander caught a glimpse of Fenris and Zevran, each in their dark armor with hoods pulled over their pale hair, their weapons in hand and standing ready. Xander could see why—their women were in a steadily growing ring of Wardens, some of which had the look of Corypheus’s thrall in their eyes. 

“It’s not worth binding our mages to Corypheus, Clarel!” Brinn shouted frantically, reaching for the daggers on her belt. 

“Corypheus?” Clarel exclaimed. “You lie! He’s dead!”

“These people will say _anything_ to shake your confidence, Clarel!” Erimond protested. “Believe me, the demon you summon is _worthy_ of your strength.”

For a brief second, it seemed like Clarel might back down. It seemed she might stop and consider, but when she opened her eyes, sickening resolve shone behind them; “Bring it through.”

Xander scrambled towards her, stopping short at a blade pointed at his throat. He turned to address the assembled warriors; “Please, I have no quarrel with the Wardens! In fact, we seek to reach out! Stand with me and we can end the Blights together! But not now—not like this!”

“The mages who have completed the ritual,” a warrior called from the crowd. “One of them, he… he was my friend! He isn’t right anymore. He’s like a puppet on a string!”

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” Clarel chastised.

“The only one who is afraid is you!” Hawke shouted, jabbing her finger at Clarel. “You’re afraid you ordered the Wardens to die for _nothing!_ ”

“If this were a fight against the Blights, me and my team would be at your side,” Brinn added. “You and I both know it; everyone assembled knows it! But it is a lie!”

Clarel turned towards Erimond; the tense silence in the courtyard was thick enough to choke. They whispered at each other for a moment, and Xander chose to believe that maybe— _maybe—_ they’d accomplished a victory. But then, Erimond turned towards the crowd. Xander’s blood ran cold at the look on his face. 

“My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor!” Erimond taunted, slamming the butt of his staff on the stones a few times. “He sent me _this_ to welcome you!”

A monstrous shriek echoed through the keep; Xander looked up at the shadow crossing the moon. The Archdemon—Corypheus’s dragon—swooped down on the battlefield, Red Lyrium pouring out of its maw. Like that, the tension in the keep broke. Clarel took one look at the dragon, and with a shout of ‘ _Help the Inquisitor!’_ , she took off after a fleeing Erimond. 

The warriors jumped into the fray; sadly, the mages had mostly turned, and they were reinforced with a growing army of demons. Brinn surged forward, drawing her daggers. Her team soon followed, brandishing their weapons. Two dwarves crashed through the fray. 

“Oghren, Sigrun!” Brinn called. “To me!”

“Don’t forget about me, Commander,” an unfamiliar voice called through the crowd. The way Hawke, Fenris and Alyx froze, Xander made an educated guess. A figure in a thick blue cloak emerged from the shadows, tossing the wool from his shoulders. A tall, thin man with long blonde hair streaked-through with grey, brandished a staff glowing with power. He wore the Warden’s armored robes, but the way Brinn reacted, it appeared wasn’t supposed to be there. He turned towards a crowd of encroaching shades, and familiar heat gathered in his hands. “ _Suck on a fireball!_ ” 

Hawke snorted at his war cry as she dropped into an aggressive stance; “Anders, you _need_ to stop saying that!”

“It’s habit at this point,” Anders countered with a wry grin.

“Anders? _The_ Anders?” Xander asked, stepping towards him.

Out of nowhere, Alyx was between them, fixing Xander with a steely glare. 

“Alyx, you don’t have to…” Anders said.

“Yes, I do,” she intoned. “Any of you want him, you _can go through me._ Is that clear?”

“I mean him no harm, Alyx,” Xander said gently.

“Good,” Alyx said with a firm nod. Shooting one last appraising look at Xander, she whirled on Anders and punched him in the arm. 

“Ow!”

“That’s for not telling me where you disappeared to,” Alyx said, glaring. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You can be sorry all you like later. There isn’t time.” She placed a hand gently on Anders’ arm, and he returned the gesture. “Just… don’t die, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Anders promised, and Alyx gave a sharp nod.

They had little time to linger; Emma was visibly seething, and Alyx looked shaken, but they were beset on all sides, and Erimond was escaping. Plus, they now had the Archdemon to deal with. 

“Now let’s finish this. Inquisitor, you should take your team, Hawke, and the Commander and head after Clarel!” Carver shouted. 

“Right,” Xander said. “Hawke, Brinn.”

“On it!” Brinn answered, heading for the stairs. “My team will cover us!” 

As they scrambled up the stairs, trying to minimize carnage, he could hear Hawke and Brinn behind him. 

“So when were you going to tell me Carver was with your team?” Hawke asked breathlessly, using her rock fist to send a shade over the edge of the battlements. 

“Really?” Brinn countered, flicking ichor from her blades. “ _That’s_ what you’re taking from all this?”

“Oh, Anders is a surprise, but Carver. When and how?” 

“Can we talk about it later?” 

“Oh, I intend to,” Hawke said, pulling up even with Xander. “Watch the Dragon!”

Xander dove forward, scraping his elbow along the stones. His shoulder groaned in protest as he levered himself up to scurry up the stairs. They crested the top in time to see Clarel and Erimond locked in brutal combat over a treacherously high bridge. 

“I will _never_ serve the Blight!” Clarel shrieked, sending Erimond flying with a vicious lightning attack to land in a crumpled heap. 

Xander threw his arm out to stop the rest from venturing out onto the bridge, but before Clarel could deliver the killing blow, the Archdemon swept her into its jaws. It landed on a raised platform behind them, shaking her around like a rag doll before tossing her to the stones with a wet crunch. Xander, Hawke, Brinn and the girls shrank away from the encroaching dragon, who was guiding them out towards the open edge of the stone bridge. Clarel moaned as she levered herself to her back, her hands crackling with magic. 

“In war, victory.”

“Clarel!” Brinn exclaimed, her face white with fear. “Clarel, don’t!”

“The bridge won’t hold!” Iris exclaimed. 

“In peace, vigilance.”

The dragon lunged at the exact moment Clarel let her attack fly, catching the creature on the soft underbelly. The combination of the force and the weight of the creature crumbled the brittle stones beneath their feet. Xander struggled to find his footing as the bridge collapsed behind him. Everyone made a madcap dash for the safety of the stairs, but the ground disappeared and they were plummeting through open air. In a panic, Xander reached forward with the Anchor, feeling it crackle as a Rift opened beneath them. 

After a terrifying number of heartbeats, they fell through the rift and the world went white. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While we recognize that this is the worst time to leave you hanging, we will not be publishing this Friday (May 27). Thanks so much for your consideration and patience--we do appreciate all our lovely AO3 babies.


	30. Chapter 30

Zevran watched as the beast careened off the end of the bridge, plummeting into the abyss beyond. He let out a loud whoop of triumph, running a few steps forward, towards his Warden. She turned to look at him, but suddenly her arms flailed outwards, bracing herself as the whole bridge shuddered. 

It seemed to happen in slow motion. The end of the bridge went first, and he watched in horror as Brinn ran towards him, racing to escape the rapid collapse. He ran towards her but she shook her head as she ran.

 _DON’T YOU DARE_ , her eyes screamed, and despite the icy dread that pooled in his stomach he stayed where he was. 

One by one the Inquisitor and his companions fell into the abyss. 

He saw the acceptance on Brinn’s face a second before it happened. Her eyes remained locked steadfastly on his as the stone crumbled underneath her and she fell. 

The collapse stopped just a few paces shy of where he was standing, and the quiet was deafening. 

She was gone. 

He stared numbly at the place where Brinn had stood, just empty air now. 

A deadly calm washed over him. Brinn was gone. There was nothing he could do about that. The magister who had caused all of this to happen, though? Him, Zevran could do something about. 

He spun on his heel. Erimond was still in his line of sight, scrambling backwards, but not quick enough. Zevran pulled a dagger, raised it over his shoulder before he let it fly—

—only to embed itself a second later in a massive, muscled grey shoulder. The qunari grunted, pulling the dagger out and dropping it onto the stone of the battlements. 

Zevran narrowed his eyes.

“If I were you, I would get out of my way, my friend.”

“Not our call, Crow. You need something to kill,” Bull said with a knowing look, “we got a shit ton of demons downstairs. _Kill those_.”

Zevran exhaled slowly through his nose, fists clenching. He nodded once, and took off around the battlements. The few demons lingering on this level were quickly dispatched, and he proceeded down the stairs. 

He reached the courtyard, and several of his daggers found demons’ necks before he even finished descending the stairs. 

He stuck to the edges of the fray where he could work most effectively. His arms were soon dripping with black ichor. This was what Zevran knew best. _It was not enough_. He slid his dagger free from one demon, moved on to the next. 

Zevran hardened his heart. There was nothing left but the kill. 

~~~

A shadow flew around the edge of the courtyard, ichor splattering and demons falling in its wake. _Zevran._ The massive qunari descended the steps after him, his face somber. 

“What happened?” asked a voice that Anders couldn't identify, preoccupied as he was by the growing dread in his chest.

“The Inquisitor fell.”

“Alyx?” Anders choked out, not quite wanting to know the answer. The qunari just shook his head. 

“No. No, not her, _please,”_ he begged, stumbling a few steps away before he collapsed to his knees. 

_Just… don’t die, okay?_

He should have forced the same promise from her. He should have… She was _gone._ He stared dully ahead, letting the grief wash over him until he wanted to scream. _Why did it have to be her?_ He put his head in his hands, waiting for the loss of control, the mindless haze of righteous fury that would come next. They would probably kill him when it happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to fear it as he should; at least if Justice took over he wouldn’t have to _feel._

Except it didn’t happen. Justice was utterly silent; it was just him and his grief, his _loss,_ and a never-ending list of should-have-done’s and what-if’s. He should never have let her leave his side, he should have gone with her to Redcliffe, should have _protected_ her…. She would have slapped him just for thinking that, he realized with a hollow laugh. 

He _should_ have told her what she meant to him. How he felt... _Maker,_ but she was _everything._ She was so fond of saying that he’d saved her, but the reverse was equally true. He’d expected to die that night in Kirkwall. It was what he’d wanted, if he was honest with himself. When Hawke had stayed her blade… He hadn’t given any thought to his own survival. Hadn’t spent a second figuring out how he’d escape Kirkwall alive. And then Alyx had appeared, her robes singed and tattered from fighting, with cheeks that were too hollow but eyes that were so undeniably _alive,_ and she had _hugged_ him, of all things.She had saved him just as thoroughly as he’d saved her. 

And now, just like that, she was gone, and Anders couldn’t quite remember what he’d been fighting for. 

A flurry of motion above him—he looked up in time to see Sebastian’s bow aimed directly at his head. 

He closed his eyes and waited for it to end. 

~~~

The bridge had gone down, and something dark twisted and coiled in his gut. He’d rushed to the courtyard from the battlements, desperately searching for her beacon-bright blonde hair, but she was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t there. He felt panic curl at the edges of his thoughts as the old fears came rushing and roiling back. 

_You are not in Kirkwall. It happened years ago. She is fine. You are fine._

“What happened?” Sebastian asked no one in particular. “Where is the Inquisitor? Where is—”

_Where is the Battlemaster? Where is Emma?_

“They fell,” the Iron Bull said quietly, but bluntly. “They fell through a rift. All… all of them. The Inquisitor’s whole party.”

Cold stone bit into his knees as he crashed to the ground in a heap. He knelt, staring numbly into the middle distance while he tried to poorly convince himself he wasn’t falling apart. He remembered Kirkwall vividly—too vividly—and how he’d responded in anger and raw grief. He wished he could shout and pray now, but he couldn’t find it in him. Not anymore. Silent tears cut hot tracks down his cheeks as he tried to push away memories of her laugh, her _smile_. He never knew it could hurt this much… he’d never told her. He’d kept a polite distance, some distant part of him not letting himself reach out. And now, she was gone. 

Memories blurred together: Emma walking into the Chantry, her smile bright and light, her laugh like a balm to his ruined soul; red light filling the night sky as the horrible, wretched sound of stone being torn apart by magic thrummed in his ears; the person he cared for was gone. Again. 

_Maker, no!_

That was when he saw him. The abomination! He was _here_. His words still echoed in his ears, black rage roiling in the pit of his stomach as he reached for his bow. He nocked an arrow, pulling it back to full draw.

 _There can be no peace_. 

Anders was here… Anders was responsible. Anders was always responsible. 

_I swear I will kill him!_

His hands shook; the tip of his arrow wavered as broken tears rolled down his cheeks, splashing on his chest piece. Anders closed his eyes, as ready to die as he’d been that night. There was nothing left—no light remained. The kind man of the faith, the decent man he’d strived to be, died with Emma. He fell into the rift with her, and now he didn’t care what happened to him. 

Because he was alone. He was doomed to be alone forever. This proved it.

“Sebastian! NO!”

~~~

It took a while for Fenris to realize that the awful, broken, downright animal sound he was hearing was coming from him. 

_So this is what a broken heart sounds like_

Fenris hardly noticed if he was facing down friend or foe as he desperately tried to reach the rubble down below. Everything he faced was an enemy so long as it prevented him from getting to her. 

He tore at the pile of stones in a frenzy; he needed to get to her. She was down there. She needed him. He felt his energy sapping as he phased his hands into the rock reaching, searching, holding out hope he would feel something...anything. When he no longer had the strength to even call his lyrium to his hands he dropped to his knees and let out a final cry of anguish. The truth finally crashing down on him. Hawke was gone.

“Fenris,” a familiar voice said behind him. Varric walked towards him slowly, his hands held palm up in front of him. 

“I can’t...I can’t,” he said, staring down at his useless hands, all the power he had gone in his anguish.

“Fenris, she’s going to come back. Hawke always finds a way; she doesn’t know the meaning of the word quit.”

“Now I know you’re lying to me.”

“How?”

“Because you never call me Fenris.” He buried his face in his hands, trying not to break down sobbing. Varric rested his hands on his shoulders and pulled him into a hug, both of them struggling to not break down, both trying to be strong for each other. Fenris opened his eyes and looked up towards the courtyard. He watched as Sebastian drew his bow and took aim for...Anders.

“Sebastian! NO!”

He raced up to the courtyard, shoving Cullen to the side as he approached. He needed to stop this—no more death. His brands lit up as he made one last surge and dashed forward, planting himself in front of Anders.

“This cannot be solved with more bloodshed,” he cried out. Sebastian did not falter, his steely blue eyes boring through him, never wavering from his target.

“Only one life needs to be lost here. He must pay for what he has done. I stayed my hand once; I let him murder Elthina and go unpunished.”

“Elthina would not want a life taken in her name! You know this!” Fenris pleaded. 

“Stand down, Fenris,” Sebastian growled.

“This isn’t your fight anymore. This is between us,” Anders added, his voice straining.

"If I let the two of you destroy each other, I will have failed her completely. Don't do this to me! Don't do this to _her_!” Fenris dropped to his knees. All the energy he had in him gone. It was too much—he could not do this. He needed Hawke; she would have known what to say, how to stop this. “Please, I’ve already failed her enough.”

Sebastian’s gaze faltered and he lowered the bow. His shoulders slumped forward as his whole demeanor deflated. Fenris felt Anders wrap his arms around him in a fierce embrace and he gave in once again to the grief.

~~~

Cullen made his way down to where the broken remains of the bridge had fallen. Fenris rushed past him, shoving him to the side yelling out for Sebastian. He chose to ignore the commotion going on in the courtyard and motioned for a few scouts to follow him. 

“Find strong and able men from the survivors. I want teams going through this within the hour.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“I don’t want any false rumors spreading; we say nothing of the Inquisitor or his companions until we find evidence of the bodies. I want a full report as quickly as possible.”

“Yes sir.”

“Maker's Breath, Curly, you really are a cold hearted bastard,” Varric growled at him. Cullen turned sharply and saw the dwarf glaring at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. The world just came crashing down on all of us and you’re requesting field reports. I just watched my best friend disappear into a rift.” 

Cullen was speechless and his silence only gave way to an emotional tirade from Varric.

“This, all of this—it's utter fucking bullshit. He should have just stayed the Inquisitor to me, I never should have given him a name. I shouldn’t have named any of them,” Varric lamented as tears flowed down his face. “Firefly...she didn't even want to come! Snowflake and Sucker Punch, they didn't deserve this. None of them deserved this! Our friends are gone and you put on a cold facade and ask for a damn field report!”

"I do not have the luxury of giving into my emotions. I want nothing more than scream and cry and beg for just one more moment with her. Because maybe in that moment I will finally have the courage to tell her how I feel,” Cullen choked out. “Because I would give anything right now to go back and tell her that it’s ok to be afraid. That she’s strong, she’s brave, she’s clever, and that she is the most amazing woman I have ever met in my life. That she lit a fire in my soul the first time she smiled at me.”

“Tell who?” Varric asked looking more confused than sad.

“Iris,” he said quietly.

“Firefly? You and…” Varric trailed off staring into the distance. “I didn’t even know.”

“I should have told her.”

~~~

He was gone. All the ‘tomorrows’ and ‘maybes’ and ‘what-ifs’ were over, and now he would never _know_. Dorian stood surrounded by grief—men who cried and crumpled and mourned the beautiful women who’d fallen into the chasm behind the Inquisitor… and Dorian stood alone. He should have seen it coming; Xander was such a beautiful man. He was an enigma in so many ways, but at his core, he was kind and gentle and deserved so much better than what Dorian could give him. 

_Out of all the people in the world, Dorian, you had to fall for the most untouchable man you could find. What the fuck is wrong with you?_

He wished he could cry. He wished he could follow in the Prince’s footsteps and just let it go, but he found he couldn’t. He didn’t even really feel _sad_. Not really. He was angry—angry at Xander for his heroic sacrifice and angry at himself for letting himself get tied in this mess. He was angry at himself for not just _telling_ him. But above all, he was angry at himself for his sudden… acceptance. 

_He’s gone. I’ve lost him forever. I’ll always be alone. It’s time to accept that and move on._

“ _Kaffas_ ,” he swore under his breath, his fist tightening to the border line of pain. He stormed away from the group, hopefully slipping away unnoticed, quietly reliving that first kiss in the Hinterlands over and over again. He savored it over and over, until he knew he would never forget the feel of Xander’s lips on his. 

This memory—this shard of affection that he’d been granted—was far more than he deserved. But he would keep it, because it was all he had. 

~~~

 _Falling_. 

For too many heartbeats, they fell. Xander had long since run out of air to scream as he plummeted towards… the ground, perhaps? He fell into a sickly-green nothingness with swirling white-grey clouds frothing in the distance; for a moment, he was prepared to fall forever. Then, the distinctive feeling of vertigo yanked somewhere behind his belly button as he was slowed, then stopped, and then he fell in the opposite direction. He looked above him, seeing rock, which boded well. When he reached out to touch, he fell onto solid ground with a grunt. 

“Well, that went well,” he groaned, levering himself to his feet. “Alright, everyone who’s not dead, sound off!”

“Can’t be dead,” Hawke quipped from… above him? _Maker’s Breath_ , where were they? “Too much pain to be dead.”

“I’m in one piece,” Brinn added. She was standing on a rocky outcropping… perpendicular to the ground. Lovely. “Where’re the rest of you?”

“Here,” Emma said, standing with some difficulty. She was favoring her left leg in a way that said she didn’t want people to know she was favoring it. “I’m alright.”

“Nngh, shit. What the _fuck,_ ” Alyx groaned, shoving herself off the ground. 

“Iris?” Xander called. “Sound off!”

“Don’t you ‘sound off’ at me, mister,” Iris shouted. She had the unfortunate luck to land in a knee-deep pool of water and was currently wringing out her sodden ponytail. “I’m just fine, thank you.”

“Alright, everyone’s alive,” Hawke said, carefully picking her way towards the ground everyone else had ended up on. Xander didn't want to know how that worked. “Now second question—where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” Brinn answered. “But this seems really familiar. I feel like I’ve been here before.”

The distinctly green light… it reminded Xander a lot of rifts. On top of that, the fell of the place pulled at some long-forgotten memory. The Anchor flickered and crackled; almost like it was _happy._

“I think,” Xander began, swallowing thickly. “I think this is the Fade.”

“No _shit_ this is the Fade,” Alyx retorted.

“Hm, that _would_ explain the familiarity. Why do these things always happen to me?” Brinn asked no one in particular.

“Ugh, you’re telling _me,_ ” Hawke said. “It’s a bit different than the last time I was in the Fade; no unwavering _loyalty_ in the face of temptation.”

“I’m going to tell Varric you said that,” Iris said archly, her uneasy gaze flickering around their immediate surroundings. “I can’t believe… this looks nothing like the Fade. At least, not how I’ve seen it. Maybe because we’re here _physically_? Xander must have opened a rift; the Anchor might have kept us alive?”

“Well, you were in the Fade, once,” Hawke interjected, turning towards Xander. “Was it like this in Haven?”

If he was being honest, Xander hadn’t given all that much thought in a long while; “I’m not sure. I still don’t remember anything from Haven. Either way, I’m _more_ concerned about that big demon—it was just on the other side of the rift in the courtyard.”

“We have to assume it wants to cross over,” Emma supplied. “And there could be others—hundreds more, if the “army of demons” plan was going to work. This is _fucking_ perfect, isn’t it?”

“So there was a rift in the courtyard,” Iris said. “Erimond was using it… could we use it to get out?”

“It’s possible,” Xander replied with a shrug. He pointed towards a massive swirl of energy against the shadow of a city… whether or not it was _the_ Black City remained to be seen, and frankly, Xander didn’t want to know. “That way seems our best bet. Let’s go.”

“Certainly beats waiting around to get eaten, yes?” Hawke asked. She reached for Brinn on the spire. The moment their hands touched, Brinn collapsed to the rocks below with a grunt. 

“Fucking _Fade_ ,” she snarled. 

Hawke snorted; “Apologies in advance to the two non-mages here. I think this fresh bullshit might be the norm today.”

Once everyone was upright and moving again, they set off. The twisting paths led to a single set of rough hewn stone stairs. The only sound other than their boots sloshing through shallow water was Emma swearing under her breath. Had the atmosphere not been so tense, Xander might have given her crap for saying “frig”—apparently, she’d been hanging around Sera too much. Xander deftly dodged a wisp playfully bouncing around his feet. He had no desire to repeat the sensation from Crestwood. 

As they crested the top of the stairs, Emma gasped and Alyx swore under her breath. 

“Maker’s bloody arsehole!” Brinn gasped. “It can’t be!”

“I greet you, Warden Tabris; and you Champion,” Divine Justinia said warmly, emerging from the shadows. “And the Trevelyan cousins; I have examined the memories of your deeds.”

Justinia gazed at Alyx knowingly, arching her bright white brow. Emma recoiled in horror, snarling viciously; “The Divine died at Haven; just like _everyone else_.”

“You assume my survival impossible,” Justinia countered. “Yet, Xander does not remember, and here you stand. In the Fade.”

“But if you’re here,” Emma said, pressing her hand over her breast absently. “Does that mean—”

“He has gone to the Maker’s side,” Justinia interrupted. “As you well know.”

“Be careful,” Brinn grumbled. “She could be a Demon.”

“If I told you, would it matter?” Justinia asked. “Besides, proving my identity would take time we do not have.”

“How long would it take?” Hawke retorted. “I’m a human, and you are…?”

“I am here to help you.”

“Ooh, snark,” Hawke mused. “I like her. Can she come back and be the new Divine, demon or no?”

“Ugh, must you _always_ joke?” Emma spat. 

“ _Enough!_ ” Xander shouted before turning back to Justinia… or the thing wearing her face. “Why are you here?”

“Apologies for sowing discontent, Inquisitor,” Justinia said. “I am here to help you recover your memories from the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“And how would you know I was made Inquisitor?”

“I have examined memories, such as yours, in the Fade,” Justinia explained, spreading her hands. “Memories stolen by the Demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.” She turned to Brinn. “The false Calling that so terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? And this place of darkness? Its lair.”

“Good,” Brinn snarled. “For every drop of Warden blood shed, it will pay twice over! I will wring every drop from it’s filthy _fucking_ neck just for putting Zevran in danger!”

“I don’t think it has a neck,” Iris said. 

“You know what I mean!” Brinn returned. “So how do we find it? How do we _kill it_?”

Justinia walked up to Xander, holding out her hand. He found himself automatically recoiling, unsure how to react. She smiled sadly; “When you entered the Fade in Haven, the Demon took a part of you. For you to proceed, you must take it back.” Justinia held out her hand, a gleaming, golden orb in her palm. It whispered to Xander, like a piece that had always been there and was always a part of him. “These are your memories.”

“So, what,” Xander asked. “I just… take them? And my memories come back? That simple?”

Justinia didn’t immediately answer, which was at once reassuring and ominous. The Anchor flickered gold at the proximity to the orb. Tentatively, Xander reached for the orb; the Anchor flared painfully, and in a flash of white light, he was overtaken by memories.

_Wandering the halls of the Temple, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. A voice slices through the quiet._

_“Why are you doing this!? You of all people?”_

_Xander stops, ice lodging itself in his spine when a bone-chilling voice echoes through the halls; “Keep the sacrifice still.”_

_“Someone! Help me!”_

_His lungs burn; he rushes down the corridor! It is the Divine! He throws his shoulder into the door, tossing it open._

_“What’s going on here?”_

_“We have an intruder.” The creature is monstrous. He holds a strange artifact. Wardens keep the Divine aloft for the creature. Why Wardens?_

_“Run while you can!” the Divine cries. “Warn them!” She smacks the flickering orb out of the creature’s hand. Almost as if on instinct, Xander lunges forward and grabs the artifact. The first thing is pain. So much pain, like something is ripping his arm from his body. He opens his mouth in a silent scream, but he has no air for agony. He is going to die. An explosion rips through the air…_

Xander screamed, his sword clattering to the ground. He clutched his wrist to his chest; the agony was so blinding, he barely registered Iris’s soft touch on his arm.

“What is happening? What did you _do_ to him?” Iris shouted, her hands shaking on his arm. 

“He remembers the pain of the mark’s first touch,” Justinia explained evenly. “I am sorry, little Iris, but it must be done.”

“I’m alright,” Xander gasped, gritting his back teeth. He took great, gasping breaths, trying to slow the pounding of his heart. “I’m alright.”

“You are most certainly _not_ alright!” Iris protested. “I’ve heard the screams of wounded animals that weren’t as terrifying as that!”

“So the mark came from the orb Corypheus carried,” Emma said smoothly. “Not Andraste.”

“You all saw that?” Xander gasped, ignoring Iris’s fussing. He was certain he would pay for it later.

“We did,” Alyx answered. 

“Corypheus intended to use to the orb to storm the Fade and rip open the doors to the Black City,” Justinia explained. “Not for the Old Gods, but for himself.”

“So that’s it, then?” Xander snapped, swiping at the tears working their way over his cheeks. 

“That is it,” Justinia said. 

“Well, that tells me _nothing_ ,” Xander spat. “All it tells me is that I should destroy the fucking orb the next time I see it!” 

“And yet, even that may be something. You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare without recovering the rest,” Justina said. “You have recovered some, but not all, and now the Nightmare knows you’re here. You must make haste—I will prepare the way forward.”

Xander blinked, and she was gone. He sighed, leaning into Iris’s soft touch; “I know I didn’t give you much choice, but thanks for being here, kid.”

“Despite the location I’d rather be here than out there, not knowing where you are.”

“Something bothering you, Hawke?” Brinn suddenly asked. “You seem quiet, which never bodes well for you.”

Hawke scowled, crossing her arms; “I don’t know. Something about seeing the Wardens holding the Divine in that vision… rankled me a bit. As it does.”

“I assume Corypheus had taken their minds, as we’ve seen him do,” Brinn said, raising an eyebrow. “But we can fight about it when we get out, yes?”

“Oh, we don’t need to fight. I was just surprised is all,” Hawke said with a nonchalant shrug. “Like how, oh, you had my _baby brother on your team and didn’t mention it!?_ ” 

“Hawke,” Brinn snapped with the air of a very put-upon governess. “Now is not the time to—” 

“I think it’s the perfect time, actually,” Hawke retorted. “I allow you your secrets, Brinn, but I figured you could at _least_ give me the courtesy of telling me my brother is safe! I was worried _sick!_ ”

“Carver is a _Warden_ , Hawke!” Brinn exclaimed. “He wanted to help! What was I supposed to do—tell him no?”

“Why did you keep it from me?”

“I was _protecting_ him! I know you, Hawke, and I know the _second_ you knew where he was, you would take steps to get him as far away from the action as possible. Not only would Carver _definitely_ not appreciate your kindness, but it could have put him in more danger than just letting him help!”

“Well, forgive me for trying to protect the only family I have left!” Hawke shouted, very suddenly angry. 

“It’s not about that, _Marian_ , and you know it!” 

“Oh, that’s low… calling me by my first name! How _dare—_ ”

“Would the both of you just _shut the fuck up already?”_ Alyx shouted, stepping between them. “This is _really_ not helping,” she added, glaring in a way that brooked no arguments. 

“I agree,” Xander interjected. “We have a demon to fight; we can kill each other when we’re safe.”

At his words, a cold chuckle echoed around them—simultaneously in their ears and their heads and all over. It made sickening chills run down Xander’s spine; _“Ah. Some silly little boy intrudes in my domain and thinks to steal the fear I so kindly lifted from his shoulders. You should have thanked me, and left your fear where it lay, forgotten._ ”

“Please tell me the rest of you heard that,” Emma whimpered, her face snow-white with panic. “ _Please_ tell me that wasn’t just me?”

“I heard it,” Xander answered. “I think that was the Nightmare.”

“And the others?” Emma pressed.

“What others?” Iris asked, quirking her brow. “Emma, are you alright? You seem...off.”

“Oh, it’s the Fade,” Emma replied evasively. “I would assume we’re all off.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only one hearing extra voices,” Alyx countered icily. 

“ _Oh, Emma. You know something is wrong. How will you explain when they find out?_ ”

“That’s going to get tiresome,” Brinn hissed. 

_“So brave… the bravest and greatest heroes in Thedas. The Hero of Ferelden… the Champion of Kirkwall. Perhaps I should prepare a proper welcome for such… prestigious guests.”_

“‘Proper welcome?’” Alyx asked. “Well that doesn’t sound fucking ominous or anything.”

“A Nightmare is like Envy,” Iris said smoothly. “There is very little research on either of them, but enough that I know they will say _anything_ to get a rise out of any one of us. It will prey on our fears and make us see things that aren’t really there.”

“Like rats?” Emma asked thinly, pointing to a swirling, black mass approaching down the sandy path. 

Apparently, Emma saw rats; Iris saw blighted Nugs; Brinn shrieked about Darkspawn; Alyx shouted about cockroaches and jumping crickets, which seemed such a mundane fear for her; Hawke was disturbingly tight-lipped about the whole affair. Xander, of course, saw maker-forsaken _spiders_. It was always the spiders—in a world with a loving Maker, spiders this size would not exist. He held back the embarrassingly girlish screech of fear as he hacked one of the chittery creatures to tiny, squishy bits. 

“Maker,” he gasped when the last one was dead. “Why always the _spiders_.”

“I didn’t know you were afraid of spiders,” Iris said. 

“It’s not a fact I advertise,” he gasped. 

“Well, I saw little blighted Nugs with red eyes and foamy, toothy maws, and let me tell you there are fewer things I’m more afraid of,” Iris explained. “So something tells me these are small fears designed to—”

_“Oh little Iris with all your facts and figures. You stuff your head with all the knowledge of the world. So easy to hide behind fact rather than stand for anything. Do you think you can sit on the sidelines forever?”_

“Stop that!” she snapped. “See? Tiresome. Brinn was right.”

“Well, I’m sure if we have you,” Xander sighed, kicking a spider corpse out of his way. “We can make it through anything. Don’t listen to it, OK?”

“Hard, when it’s calling you the generally-preferred pet name,” she retorted. “Lead the way.”

She put up a front and smile, happy to walk beside him and give her opinion. It was invaluable, but the thing had gotten to her. It had touched on something within her that she wasn’t willing to deal with. The longer they were in the foreign landscape with a literal Nightmare breathing down their necks, the more frayed their nerves became. Emma had long stopped swearing under her breath and had gone unnervingly quiet. Brinn and Hawke would barely look at each other. The tension could be cut with a dull knife. 

Up ahead, Xander could see the figure of the Divine; “Justinia is ahead. Let’s go.”

“Yes,” Alyx growled. “The sooner, the better. _Fuck_ this place.”

Xander nodded, his grip tightening on his sword, and he led the way. What was becoming most unnerving was the utter lack of demonic presence. They encountered a few shades, which were disposed of quickly, but they were in the _Fade_. They should have been encountering demons of all shapes and sizes, but so far, barely anything. 

“Stay on your guard,” Brinn said. “No telling what it might have—”

She cut off with a soft gasp and the sound of five bodies hitting the ground simultaneously. Xander whirled on his party, horrified to see they’d all dropped where they lay. He ran to Iris, the nearest one, but before he could get within arm’s reach, a pair of chains shot from the ground, wrapping tightly around his wrists and coiling up his arms. 

He was yanked to the ground, the chains biting into his skin. Xander was forced to his knees, barely six or seven feet from either one of them. 

“What is this?” he shouted, pulling and tugging on his bonds. If he could just get to his sword… but it was too far away from him. 

“ _I must try harder. They are willful, and together you are strong. Apart, you are weak. It is that simple; they will die in their nightmares, Xander.”_

 _“_ What, couldn’t think of one for me?” he spat, struggling mightily, drawing the chains tighter. 

“ _Don’t be foolish, boy. You know better than that—you get to watch them die. There isn’t anything you can do; there is nothing you fear more than being helpless._ ”

“No!” he snarled, lunging forward, but the chains held fast. They almost burned where they bit into his flesh, and he could see where they would leave marks. He turned towards Iris, raising his voice to a near hysterical shout. “Iris! Wake up, Iris! You have to _fight!_ ”

“ _You know it’s pointless. It’s alright, you know. Just sit, and watch them die. It would be easier. And besides—”_

“No!”

“ _You may consider this a failure, but with little Iris out of the way—_ ”

“Shut up!”

“ _Think about how proud your mother would be_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for the time being, we are removing Friday as a publishing day. We will still publish Mondays and Wednesdays. Thank you so much for your patience and support.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter includes some graphic/visceral content that may be triggering or uncomfortable for some readers. Full list of such content in the notes at the end of the chapter.

Brinn blinked and looked around at her surroundings, disoriented.

The Alienage?

She hadn’t been back here in such a long time, but… _Maker,_ what had happened?

Most of the buildings were destroyed, fires raging in many of them. The ground was littered with corpses—both elves and darkspawn—and drenched in blood. The air was permeated with the sickening wrongness of the Blight; she swayed on her feet as it passed through her in a wave, calling to the taint in her veins.

She walked forward through the square, carefully not looking at the bodies. She didn’t want to see the faces of her friends and family there. A flash of red in her peripheral vision and her head turned— _Shianni?_

She took a cautious step towards her cousin, but when Shianni turned towards her, Brinn’s heart froze. Shianni’s eyes were glazed over, her skin purpled and rotting. When her eyes found Brinn, a feral snarl took over her face. Brinn barely drew her daggers in time, shoving both through Shianni’s middle. Her cousin fell in a heap on the ground, twitching a few times before she fell still for good.

Brinn took a few too-quick breaths, trying to stave off panic and grief. She had to find out what had happened. She had to keep going. Keeping her daggers drawn, she marched forward.

There were so many bodies. The Alienage was eerily silent, for all the carnage; was everyone dead? She proceeded on, trying not to think too carefully about which corpse might have been her father’s, or Soris’s.

She heard a soft shuffling sound, like halting footsteps, and whirled around, trying to find the source.

Then she saw him, and the ground dropped out from under her feet. She swayed dangerously, just managing not to come crashing to her knees as her stomach roiled with grief at the sight before her eyes.

“Zev,” she whispered, voice choked. She sheathed her daggers. He looked up at her; his eyes were milky and fogged, surrounded by purple bruises. His cheeks were hollowed, his golden hair limp and falling out in places. She could see the black of the taint in his veins, sticking out beneath his sallow skin. “No,” she choked out over a broken sob. Not _him_ , anything but him… She should have _been_ here. Why hadn’t she been here? Why hadn’t she stopped this? She stepped towards him, a hand outstretched.

“No,” he wheezed. His voice was rough, harsh, and nothing like the smooth, lilting accent she was accustomed to. “Mi amor, please, _stay back.”_

“Never,” she said, voice wavering.

“You should not have to look at me like this,” he said, with an odd coughing sound she thought was meant to be a laugh. “I fear my ravishing good looks did not survive the taint as well as yours, _bella_.”

“Don’t joke, Zevran,” she said softly, fighting back another sob. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll save you. I’ll make you a Warden. It’ll be fine.”

“My Grey Warden,” he said, and she felt tears running down her face at the familiar endearment. “My love, it is too late for me.”

 _“No!”_ she shouted, loud enough for the entire alienage to hear her. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare.”

“Brinn… _the song_. It calls to me. I hear it constantly. I cannot… I do not know how much longer I can resist it.”

“No! There’s still time. You haven’t succumbed yet, I’ll make you a Warden and, and…”

“You know that is not true. There is no time. Please, amor, do not… _I cannot hurt you._ I could not bear it. Please, _please_ end it now, do not let me hurt you,” Zevran begged, almost frantic in his intensity.

“No. Please, Zev, we’ll find a way. I… I _can’t.”_

“Please,” Zevran said softly, reaching up with one shaky arm to barely brush her cheek with his fingertips. “It’s too loud. I can’t bear it.”

The agony in his broken voice was unbearable, and Brinn clapped a hand over her mouth as a violent sob wracked her body.

“I love you,” she said, looking into her lover’s ruined eyes, wishing they were the warm amber she remembered.

“And I you,” Zevran said.

She could see it in his eyes the moment he was gone. Even wrecked as it was by the taint, she knew his face too well and saw the instant love and grief were replaced by hatred. Before he could take a single step, she drew one of her knives from her belt and drove it upwards through his ribs. She caught him as he collapsed, sinking to her knees on the filthy ground. She held him in her arms, rocking back and forth as her grief overtook her.

_This was her fault._

This was all her fault. She should have been here. She was supposed to stop this! Why hadn’t she—

A deafening, unearthly roar broke the stillness of the night, and then a great shadow passed above her. She glanced up—the Archdemon was flying overhead, heading for the top of Fort Drakon.

_Wait._

The Archdemon? No, this was… this wasn’t how it happened. They’d won the fight in the Alienage, they’d—

_She had killed the Archdemon._

Zevran’s weight in her arms suddenly felt off somehow, insubstantial.

Because this _wasn’t real._ Because it wasn’t him. She’d defeated the Archdemon, and Zevran was _alive._

 _THIS ISN’T REAL,_ she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. The weight in her arms faded, and she woke up with a gasp.

~~~

It was the smell that hit Hawke first—like a sack of bricks to the gut. The acrid smoke, layered with the sickening sweet odor of rotting flesh, the tang of ozone. Her stomach roiled with both nausea and dread as she reluctantly opened her eyes, confirming her awful suspicion— 

_The foundry._

She stumbled forward as though pulled by an invisible string, dreading what she knew she would find but unable to stop herself planting one foot in front of the other. 

A broken sob forced its way from her lungs as she laid eyes on the hem of the dingy, tattered wedding dress. The feet shuffling forward—that _sound—_ and then her mother collapsed in her arms, her body stiff and cold and _wrong._

“I love you. You’ve always made me so proud.”

The body in her arms—not her mother’s body, not really, though it was hard not to think of it that way—went limp. Her mother’s eyes, clouded and grey, stared unseeing at the dingy ceiling. An ugly, ragged sob hitched in her chest, but she choked it off when she heard footsteps behind her. 

“Marian—”

_Carver._

“Carver, no!” He couldn’t be here, couldn’t see _this._ She whipped around, trying to shield him from seeing what that monster had done to their mother. What she saw made her heart freeze in her chest. 

Carver’s eyes were milky and fogged, his skin an ashy grey that only made the bruises and purpled veins more prominent. _The taint._ No, it couldn’t be. _This wasn’t happening._ She had to protect him, he was all that was left of her family—she _couldn’t fail him._

“This is all your fault,” Carver spat, his voice wheezing and rough. “You always had to be the fucking hero. Well _look what you’ve done!”_ He spread his arms, and she let out a broken gasp, feeling instantly sick as her whole body rebelled against the sight in front of her. _No._ No, this could not be happening, _they couldn’t be dead._

Varric was slumped against the wall, blood from a massive wound at his temple covering his face and congealing in his chest hair. Bianca lay shattered in dozens of pieces next to him. 

Merrill lay in a pool of blood, her tiny body dashed against the stone floor. Her eyes were impossibly wide, frozen in fear. She had died _terrified._

Isabela had been dragged off in chains, the manacles left bruises on her wrists where she had fought against them. Her body lay in the doorway, her throat slit by her own hand—death before imprisonment.

Aveline and Donnic were inches from one another. Their hands were outstretched towards each other, a desperate attempt to be with the one they loved in their final moments. 

Anders knelt in front of her, his face frozen in a scream of rage. Justice had taken over, leaving cracks across his skin, his eyes two smoking black pools. Hawke’s dagger was buried to the hilt in his chest.

She took a step forward, her leg moving slowly and mechanically, as if pulled by invisible puppet strings. Mid-step, though, her boot hit something solid and metallic; the loud sound was stifled eerily quickly. She glanced down, and her eyes fell on Sebastian’s broken form. Blood splattered his shining white armor, his chestplate marred and cracked by a massive scorch mark. His blue eyes stared up at her, unseeing.

She felt her gut turn at the sight and she turned away from the carnage surrounding her. Carver’s voice ringing through her ears. _Look what you’ve done!_ She took blind steps just trying to escape when she tripped over what she knew must be a body. Falling to the ground, she felt her stomach lurch in protest. She crawled away from whoever it was, her arms shaking with the effort. The ground beneath her seemed to be sucking her in, and she knew it would never let her get away...not without looking one last time:

Fenris, staring at her with dead eyes, his face nearly untouched save the blood trickling from his open mouth, lying amidst a perfect circle of decaying shades, as if someone had done it intentionally, to make _damn_ sure she saw him. 

Rage twisted in her chest, and her mouth fell open in a wordless, wild scream. _No._ She couldn’t— _he could not be dead._ Her chest rose and fell in ragged, desperate breaths as she pulled on all her mana, tearing at the very fabric of reality to get to whoever, _whatever_ had done this—and then in a flash the foundry disappeared, and she was once again surrounded by the rocky, surreal terrain of the Fade. The refusal to believe anything she saw had... broken the nightmares hold on her? She looked up to see Xander chained to the ground, Brinn desperately attempting to release him. The rest of their party was slumped unconscious on the wet ground around them. Her chest clenched painfully as she gasped for air; she inhaled as deeply as she could and attempted to speak, only for her stomach to jump into her throat, heaving violently as she lost the entire contents of her stomach.

~~~

Iris felt the air around her grow thin and she resisted the urge to take deep breaths. Instead she closed her eyes and waited, breathing slowly in and out before finally opening her eyes again. She shrieked at the sight in front of her.

 _“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”_ A sultry voice echoed around her.

Standing before her was...her. Iris Trevelyan stood clothed in black silk; jeweled necklaces hung down between her partly exposed breasts, a sheer red veil lay over her face. Iris recognized the Tevinter styling of the clothing and scoffed.

_“Am I not pleasing to look at?”_

“You’re not real.”

_“So you say. Though your heart tells you a far different story. I am you, Iris; I am your potential and everything you can never be.”_

“Tevinter fashion? Please, I’m a Marcher,” Iris growled, observing her surroundings. She was in the throne room at Skyhold, though it was empty save a few wisps floating about. Fade-Her watched her closely, observing her movements and attempting to mimic them. “Are you Envy?”

_“No I am not. I am you and everything you can never be.”_

“Yes, you said that already,” Iris retorted as she made her way towards the front entrance to the Keep. Fade-Iris followed in her wake, and she resisted the urge to converse with it further. Demons fed off of attention, and she would not give it. She kept her pace even as she walked towards the doorway, but it kept getting further and further away. She stopped, turned, and saw the throne directly behind her again.

_“You should be sitting there.”_

“I’m not the Inquisitor.”

_“No but you could be. You should be. Why should Xander have the honor? He isn't even a mage.”_

“He can seal the rifts, and he’s been leading us; he deserves the honor.”

_“He has done nothing but lead you to your own death! Take the throne Iris; you can do so much better. You have more knowledge than he could ever dream of. He is a failure, and he will never save Thedas. It should be you!”_

“NO!” Iris screamed, shutting her eyes tight again. When the echoes of her screams faded, she finally opened her eyes and saw herself standing in the rookery. Once again she saw her doppelganger, though this time she was dressed as an Inquisition scout. Fade-Iris had become pale and her eyes seemed sunken in.

_“You should be Chamberlain. Why was Alyx even considered for the job?”_

“It is not my place to question,” Iris said shaking her head. She made her way to the stairs, trying desperately to get away from herself.

_“She kept Anders a secret from everyone, even you. She didn't even trust you enough to tell you about him.”_

“She had every right to keep that a secret. We’d been separated so long, she was scared to tell anyone. She loves me.”

_“She only loves you so long as she can keep you beneath her. You will always be Little Iris to her. She will never respect you.”_

“That’s not true!”

_“You should take her place; you would never keep secrets. You should be Chamberlain.”_

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

The rookery swirled around her and she shut her eyes to stop herself from going dizzy.

“It’s not real,” she repeated to herself over and over again. She felt a light breeze on her face and heard the gentle chirping of birds. She was standing in the training grounds when she opened her eyes again. Her Fade-self stood before her again...in Emma’s armor. Her eyes were two black pits and her nails were like talons.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

_“You should be battlemaster.”_

“Stop it! I don’t want any of this!”

_“Emma is weak, she has already proven it. Look how tightly she held onto her precious dead Templar. She let herself fall victim to despair and doesn’t even know it!”_

“What?”

_“You could do so much more; the Inquisition would be more if you took her place.”_

“Why are you doing this to me? Why?”

_“I am showing you the darkest depths of your desires, Iris. I am showing you everything you could be.”_

“No, I would never seek to replace any of them. I don’t want to be anything more than what I am.”

Her Fade-self shrieked and swiped at her with a clawed hand. The beast ripped its nails down her shoulder and over her heart. Iris grasped at the wound and let out a whine as the blood seeped through the armor.

_“You are pathetic! You are alone! You stand for nothing! Give up Iris; it's what you are good at!”_

Her voice screamed at her from the mouth of the thing that was trying to be her. She felt the world growing dark, the blackness descending all around her. Falling to her knees, gasping for air, she thought maybe it was right. Who was she? What good had she brought to anyone? Where did she stand? Suddenly she heard a surge of voices through her head, her cousins, Cullen, and Xander all calling out to her.

_“You assume every mage can do what you do, but you’re special, Iris. You are… Iris, you are flame personified. It’s the only way I can describe it. You’re in touch with fire. I control ice, but fire dances for you, and it is spectacular.”_

_“Are you going to let a chance of something shitty happening keep you from living your life? Whatever the future holds, we have our freedom now. You should use it.”_

_“You call down fire like it's yours to bend and control. To you it is merely a gift. You are able to recite obscure political and economic facts at the drop of a hat, yet you only see yourself as well read. You are an amazing woman Iris, and yet you see yourself as just a bookish girl with an affinity for flame.”_

_“I won’t fail you again, I promise. You’ll never be alone.”_

“I am not weak and I am not alone!” Iris cried out before standing up with her back straight and her shoulders back. She opened her hands and felt her fire come to life. “I stand for my family, I stand for my friends, but most of all I stand for myself!”

The earth beneath her feet burst into a glyph of fire and she advanced on the creature, burning the ground in her wake. She could feel the heat all around her and it made her heart sing. Her hair flew about her face and she felt as though she was gliding through the air. 

“I will not fall to you, demon! You have no power over me!” 

~~~

Brinn was lost without a lock to pick, and Hawke didn’t have the physical strength of her husband, so breaking the chains was out. 

“They’re embedded in the _ground_ ,” Brinn growled. “Maker’s breath, I don’t know how—if Xander can’t break them—”

“I will cut my arm off if we have to,” Xander snarled, tugging on the chains again. They dug into his forearms, and he felt himself go pale. His knees hurt and he was soaked through, but he could think of worse states to be in. “I’m _not_ staying here!”

“I don’t think we need to be as dramatic as that,” Hawke chastised, still shaking from getting sick. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth as she continued to work at the chains. “There _has_ to be a trick!”

After a few more moments of fiddling, Xander panicked—he’d been kidding about cutting his arm off, but the longer they struggled, the more real the quip was becoming. His breathing became shallow and he gave the chains another fitful tug, gasping in pain when they tightened further. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes—he _couldn’t afford_ to lose it now! The raw edges of hysterics began to seep into his bones, and no matter how carefully he breathed, a cold sweat still broke out on his forehead. 

Until Iris caught fire. 

In a blazing inferno, Iris’s eyes flew open and her whole body lifted a few inches off the ground. Flames poured from her hands and feet and swirled around her, scorching the ground beneath her. Her hair came free of its tail, blowing around her face. Her eyes were blank and golden-orange—the glow of a wildfire. She floated along the ground towards him—Hawke erected a quick barrier to protect them from the worst of the heat. The chains, however, were not spared from their fate. Within moments, they glowed orange and began to weaken. Xander’s relief didn’t last long. 

_Pain_. Oh, Maker the _pain_ was too much! Molten metal pressed into the soft skin of his wrists and forearms. He screamed without really meaning to—a raw, animal bellow of agony tearing out of his chest as the stench of burning flesh flooded his nose. Thankfully, the chains fell uselessly to the ground, and the scream seemed to pull Iris out of her haze. 

“Oh, Maker!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to examine his arms. “Xander, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright,” Xander replied through gritted teeth. Hawke and Iris were both applying healing magic to the angry stripes of blackened skin, but they refused to heal fully. Even with magic. He cried out when Hawke prodded at one of the burns. “Hurts like a son of a bitch, though.”

“Such language,” Hawke quipped. “I’m not sure why they won’t heal all the way, but at least now your hands may be usable.”

“It’s fine,” Xander said, levering himself up to his feet. “Iris… what was that?”

“I realized what I could do,” she answered smoothly. “I made it _dance_ for me. Apparently, it got a bit out of control.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Hawke murmured under her breath. 

Xander grinned, ruffling Iris’s hair; “I’m just glad you’re awake. Now, the other two…”

“They haven’t awoken yet?” Iris whirled on the others; they were frighteningly still. 

“No. And I’m worried. It’s been a while.”

Iris pursed her lips, and made a low hum of consideration under her breath; “Brinn and I will handle Alyx—I think she’ll recognize my voice, even in the nightmare. You and Hawke should attempt to wake Emma.”

Just as Iris’s words left her lips, Alyx started screaming. 

~~~

If Emma was being honest, the moment she knew it was a Nightmare, she’d expected some sort of illusion. She’d never personally dealt with one, but she’d read about them and studied them. They were stronger, meant to deal with her basest and most primal of reactions. Fear could be powerful, though. She’d braced for the worst she could imagine—Ser Ulrich screaming in her face, utterly betrayed; her family deriding her failures; Alyx, Iris and Xander leaving her to die for her crimes; even a pit of rats eating her alive… she’d imagined it all. She thought she was prepared. 

Turned out, she was _wrong_. At first, she thought that maybe it couldn’t affect her and it was searching for something it could use. The room she was in was so dark, she couldn’t tell the difference between her closed or open eyes; it was cold and small—just big enough for her to stand in places—with walls that felt like smooth stone. She’d never had much of a problem with small, dark spaces, so she wasn’t sure what was happening; yet she felt braced for anything.

Then, the water started flowing in. 

The sound was so loud, it drowned out even her scream of shock when she felt how cold it was; an impossibly old memory pulled at the edges of her consciousness—the first days she’d worn the Templar armor; it had been so heavy, and she could barely move in it. Many mages took umbrage with her bearing of the flaming-sword sigil of the Order, but even more Templars refused to see a mage as a sister. One of the younger, more ardent recruits—she couldn’t remember his name—had pushed her into the lake. Immediately, she’d sunk to the bottom, and pulled by the weight of the armor, she hadn’t been able to swim back up. She’d been terrified that she would die at the bottom of the lake, until Ulrich had pulled her back, his pale eyes wide with fear and concern. 

Before Emma could even figure out what was happening, the water was already up to her knees and steadily rising. She needed to _think_ —it had to be coming in from somewhere! The surface was choppy and uneven, which suggested a current of some kind. She pressed herself against the wall, trying to find any sort of source of air or light or a way out, but she knew better. The water was up to her waist now, and rising faster. Panic settled in her gut—hot and heavy—as her limbs went numb with the cold.

Her hands scrabbled against the walls—she couldn’t see them, but she knew her fingertips were getting mangled. She scrambled higher, but when her head hit the ceiling, she knew it was useless. She could feel the water on her chest now, and there was no way out. She was going to drown in this little box. She let out an ear piercing scream, but all it did was echo off the pitch-dark walls. Hot tears streamed down her chilled face as adrenalin surged, the water rising to her shoulders. In her panic, the water rose faster, lapping up onto her face and stealing her breath. She coughed when she accidentally inhaled a mouthful; part of her wished she could see… but she was almost glad she couldn’t. 

There was nothing that could be done. She half-expected the heinous whispers she’d been hearing off-and-on for months to taunt her in this nightmare. But everything was infuriatingly silent, save for the rush of water as it steadily rose to her neck. She knew her best bet was to stay calm, but she couldn’t. The occasional lap of black water against her face sent her breath racing. She knew she was hyperventilating. She tried to turn her face up, if only to buy a few more precious seconds of air.

And she cried. She cried harder than she could ever remember crying, because there was no coming back from this. She shook with cold as she lost feeling in her hands and feet, but she couldn’t bring herself to care if she lost every limb she had. She would never get to say she was sorry… she couldn’t make amends with Alyx and Iris; she couldn’t tell Sebastian… she was leaving so much unfinished. The water occasionally lapped up onto her face, sending panicked ripples throughout her system. She trembled as she tried to think of her last words—words no one else would hear, but maybe the Maker might have mercy on her soul… maybe she could be damned to the Void at least knowing she’d said all she could. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against the ceiling, ice cold water filling her ears. “I’m so sorry.”

And then, the water closed over her head. 

~~~

The austere stone hallway stretched endlessly in either direction, door after door after door all positioned too close. Horror lodged itself solidly in Alyx’s gut, icy-hot panic clawing up her chest. _No, no no NO._ She couldn’t be back here. She couldn’t…

She ran. Moving as quickly as her legs could carry her, frantically grabbing at the walls to propel herself along. She had to get _out._ Her breath came in ragged gasps, wheezing and desperate. She still couldn’t see the end of the hallway. No matter how fast she ran, the hall and its rows of doors stretched on endlessly before her. Her lungs burned. She couldn’t _breathe._

She collapsed to her knees, ragged sobs wracking her frame as she struggled to fill her lungs.

“Please stay calm. Everything will be alright soon,” a flat voice—a dreadfully, terrifyingly _familiar_ voice—said. Alyx froze, not wanting to look. She knew she didn’t want to see this, see _her_ like this, but she couldn’t stop. She looked up, over her shoulder as robed legs entered her peripheral vision. Grier’s long, black hair was pulled back into a neat bun, prominently displaying the bright red sunburst brand on her forehead.

“Grier… _no,”_ Alyx choked, her throat feeling thick with horror and grief. “No no no, please, they can’t take you from me, I _won’t let them take you from me!”_ Alyx cried, scrambling to her feet and grabbing Grier by the forearms and shaking her, trying to force some kind of reaction, _anything._

“I am right here,” Grier said in the lifeless tone of the Tranquil.

“No, you’re _not!”_ Alyx screamed, terrified, angry tears pouring down her face.

“Everything will be fine. You will see. We are going to help you, Alyx,” said another voice, just as dull and devoid of emotion.

_No._

Alyx’s heart froze, and shattered into countless pieces as she looked up to see Anders standing at Grier’s shoulder, the brand on his forehead matching hers. His normally messy blond hair was trimmed neatly, pulled back from his face into a perfect tail. Gone were the feathered pauldrons she remembered, too; instead he wore the shapeless robes of the Gallows mages. Alyx’s mind rebelled at the image, it was _wrong_ , _so wrong._ She looked down, away, _anything_ but to look up and see the two of them staring blankly back at her. _She couldn’t bear it._

She was wearing the robes, too. How had she not noticed she was wearing them? She grabbed at the neckline, tugging, trying to rip it away from her body but she _couldn’t._

“Please do not struggle, Enchanter Trevelyan. It will only make this more difficult.”

_Emma._

Alyx’s eyes darted up. Emma stood before her in her gleaming Templar armor, holding the red-hot brand, the sunburst extended towards Alyx’s forehead.

“No,” Alyx gasped. “Emma, cousin, _please,_ don’t do this, please, _I’ll do anything_ just don’t do that to me!” She scrambled backwards, but suddenly someone was behind her. She looked up—Anders. He stepped to the side, grabbing her by one arm while Grier took the other, holding her in place.

“Grier,” she sobbed. “Help me! I love you, _please don’t do this!”_

“We are going to help you, Alyx. Please do not struggle,” Grier said.

She looked up at Anders instead. “How could you let them do this? This is everything we’re fighting against, Anders, _please!”_

“This is where we belong, Alyx. You will see.”

A broken sob ripped itself from her chest as she struggled to escape the grip of the two people she loved most in this world.

“Do not resist, Enchanter, or this will be rather unpleasant,” Emma said coldly, stepping closer.

“NO!” Alyx screamed, calling on her mana and sending a pulse of electric energy out from her body. Anders and Grier loosened their grip on her arms enough for her to rip herself away, and she sprinted down the hallway, gasping for air as she struggled to get as far away as she could. Hot tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision as she desperately tried to blink them away.

She collided suddenly with solid stone, her head bouncing off the wall with a sickening crack. Behind her, a heavy door slammed shut. She whirled around, and stared in muted horror at what she saw.

A tiny, dark, stone cell, barely large enough for a rickety cot and a bucket in the corner for a chamber pot. It was undeniably _her_ cell. The gouge marks in the walls that perfectly fit her fingertips, the black mark on the door from where she’d tried countless times in desperation to zap it off its hinges. She’d paid dearly for every attempt.

She threw herself against the door, pain lancing up through her shoulder at the impact. She clawed at the cracks, trying to find purchase somewhere; she had to get it open. She couldn’t _be_ here, not again. Her breath came in frantic gasps, too quickly, she _had to get out of here._

Her struggling had shaken her hair loose, and a few strands sticking to her sweat-slick face. Wait. _Her hair._ She reached up, and felt the smooth surface of her long hair pulled back into a neat bun. _No_. Her hair was _short,_ she’d cut it off the day after the Gallows had fallen.

Hadn’t she?

She clutched at her head, frantically trying to remember, but everything was jumbled, and she couldn’t—

 _None of it was real,_ said a low, cold voice in her head. _You really thought you could be free? There is no escape. This cell is all you will ever know._

She pounded uselessly against the solid door, hot tears streaming down her face as she screamed. Her chest felt too tight, constricted, she couldn’t _breathe._

She sank to the floor, leaning her back against the door as she struggled to regain her breath. She stared up at the familiar patterns in the stone of the wall across from her.

The wall that was closer now than it had been a moment ago. The whole cell— _smaller._ Abruptly all the air was sucked from her lungs as abject terror overcame her. She slammed her eyes shut. _Not real. Not real. Can’t be happening, no…_

When she risked opening her eyes again, the cell was smaller still, and the walls were slowly, silently closing in on her. She sucked in a frantic, terrified gasp.

 _It’s for the best, Alyx_ , Grier’s lifeless voice echoed in her ear.

 _This is where you belong_ , Anders added. The wall opposite her was nearly touching her feet now.

She screamed.

~~~

They scrambled; Brinn and Iris were hovering over Alyx, who was screaming herself hoarse. Xander and Hawke nervously waited for Emma to come to. Iris shook Alyx, administering firm slaps on her cheek, trying to be heard over the screaming. 

“Alyx! Alyx, can you hear me!?” Iris shouted. 

“I’m going to stand watch,” Xander murmured to Hawke. The commotion was sure to draw demons—of that he was sure. “Let me know if something changes. Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” Hawke snapped, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Sorry, Xander. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m worried too,” he assured. “They’ve both been out for a while.”

“Yes, well,” Hawke grumbled. “At least Alyx is having a reaction.”

Xander listened to the _awful_ screaming, watching Alyx thrash in Iris’s grip; “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

If he’d been a _little_ less observant, and if his hearing had been just a touch worse, he might have missed it. The gasping gurgles that were passing for Emma’s breath drew is attention, and when he looked closely, he could see…

“Water,” he said, eyes wide. “Maker, is that _water_ coming out of her mouth?”

Hawke fell to her knees, brushing her knuckle along the corner of Emma’s mouth. When it came away damp, she held her hand over Emma’s nose; “Void take her, she’s not breathing!”

“What?” Xander knelt, taking his hunting knife from his boot. He held the polished blade next to Emma’s nose, and when it didn’t fog, he felt a surge of panic. “Holy _shit_ , Hawke! How is this possible?”

“Fucking _Fade_ , that’s how!” she answered. “Pray Brinn and Iris get Alyx up, because I’m going to need your help!”

Xander’s gaze wandered to where he could still hear Iris shouting at Alyx; there wasn’t much he could do at that point, so he looked to Hawke; “What do you need from me?”

“Prop her up; I need her chest,” Hawke said frantically, working at the buckles holding Emma’s armor in place. “Fenris told me this trick the Fog Warrior mages used—Maker, I hope it works!”

Hawke and Xander tore at Emma’s armor, revealing her chest bit by bit. By the time usable skin was available, she’d gone completely limp, water was trickling out of her mouth in a steady stream, and her lips had gone blue. Hawke was frantic, drawing on her mana. 

“Maker, have mercy,” she whimpered. Electricity jumped across her palms; she pressed her hands to Emma’s breast and let the magic flow in a quick jolt. Emma twitched in Xander’s arms, but otherwise didn’t react. 

“Alyx, _please!_ ” Iris called, unaware of the crisis in her desperation. 

Xander held back a choked sob as Hawke pressed her sparking hands to Emma’s chest, letting the jolt crackle over her skin. He would _not_ lose family in this _Maker forsaken_ place. He refused! Hawke let the lightning crackle over Emma’s chest again—Xander could smell the burning flesh at this point. It wasn’t the worst, but if— _when_ —she awoke, it would be painful. 

“Maker take you, Emma, _wake up!_ ” Xander shouted, driving the butt of his hand between her shoulder blades. Miraculously, combined with one more jolt from Hawke, it seemed to work. With a lurch and a shudder, she started coughing. Unhealthy amounts of water poured out of her mouth as she tried to rasp in a few mouthfuls of air. Xander held her so she wouldn’t collapse under her own weight, shuddering with his own tears. “Thank goodness.”

Her eyes were wide with terror, and she was shaking and pale, but she was alive and breathing—albeit with difficulty. Xander gathered her in his arms, and she _cried_. He’d never seen Emma cry before—not once—and it was one of the most difficult things for him to see. He held her, stroking her hair and shushing her gently, while he looked over to Iris, who had gotten more frantic in her frustration. 

“Oh, that’s it,” Iris snarled, grabbing Alyx’s armor by the collar. “ _ **Alyx, help me!**_ ”

Remarkably, it seemed to work. Alyx’s eyes flew open to the point Xander could see the whites above her irises. She sprang to her feet, her spirit blade crackling in one hand, while lightning jumped along her gauntlets. She was seething, her stance low and ready. 

“Easy, Alyx,” Brinn soothed, holding up her hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Easy. You’re alright. You’re safe. For the moment.”

Alyx calmed by careful, measured degrees, slowly pulling her magic back within her, letting the lightning dissipate. She indicated Emma still shaking and wrapped around Xander; “What’s with her?”

“She didn’t do so well with her illusion either,” Hawke explained, brushing a gentle hand along Emma’s hair. “Well, it was less of an illusion for her. She had actual _water_ in her lungs.”

Emma pulled away from Xander’s shoulder, wiping at her tears and exposing her chest. Lightning wounds ran from the angry red points where Hawke’s hands had come in contact with her skin. Alyx’s eyes widened.

“What the fuck did you _do?”_ she exclaimed.

“Old Fog Warrior trick,” Hawke said. “They used lightning to revive drowning victims. I don’t have the control they did, but—”

“You’re lucky you didn’t _kill_ her, from the look of it,” Alyx muttered. 

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Hawke countered. “So that’s something, at least.”

“I’m alright,” Emma whimpered in an impossibly small voice. “A bit battered, and this is going to hurt for a few days, but I’m alright. Help me with my armor? I can’t… get my breastplate on my own.”

After some fiddling with the buckles, Emma was back in her armor. The haunted look had yet to leave her eyes, and she gripped her spirit blade even tighter. Xander turned towards the path where the Divine waited. How long had it been since they’d fallen? They turned towards their destination, but froze when a tiny voice echoed around them. 

“Please, don’t go.”

Emma halted, her spine stiff. She paled, slowly turning towards the source of the voice—an impossibly beautiful child with golden hair caught in braids. Wide blue eyes stared out from a white face, and fat tears rolled over round cheeks. She shuffled up to Emma, holding out her tiny hand. 

“You promised you would stay with me,” she pleaded. Xander felt _cold_ —colder than even his escape from Haven. It was less a pervasive cold, and more like the absence of warmth. “I don’t want to be alone—don’t go, please.”

“Emma?” Xander asked, turning towards her. She was shaking again, her glassy eyes transfixed on the child. Her breath fogged the air and came shallowly. “Emma, what’s happening?”

The child turned towards Xander, her tears coming with renewed vigor. She gave a tiny sob; “I’m alone. I’m always alone. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Iris drew in a sharp gasp, and the telltale warmth of her mana being drawn brought Xander back to himself, if only a little bit. It was a _demon_. That much he knew. _So why isn’t Emma killing it?_

“Please stay with me,” the child begged, taking another tentative step forward. “Everything is broken. I broke it. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

 _Broken? What does it mean, broken?_

“Don’t touch it, Xander,” Iris snarled. “Don’t listen to it; don’t even look at it.”

“What is it?” Xander asked. “I’ve never seen a demon like this before.”

“At least you know it’s a demon,” Iris said. “I have a _hunch_ what it is. Something in my nightmare— Emma, don’t!”

Emma didn’t appear to be listening. She’d visibly sagged; her spirit blade hilt fell from her limp fingers, clattering to the ground, and she was extending her hand towards the child. 

“I broke it,” Emma sighed, her eyes wide and unseeing. “I’m better off here, where I can’t hurt them anymore.”

“Oh for _fuck’s sake_ ,” Iris snarled. With a quick flicker of her wrists, flame danced from her fingertips, catching on the bottom of the demon’s dress like it was dry tinder. The demon shrieked, the beautiful features twisting into something dark and misshapen. “Begone, demon! You are not welcome here!”

“ _She killed Ulrich; she killed Gerhardt,_ ” the demon shouted, it’s voice no longer high and child-like. It had that inhuman hiss that sent hauntingly familiar chills up Xander’s spine. “ _She belongs to me; here with me, she can’t hurt anyone else. She can drown in beautiful despair._ ”

“I can’t hurt anyone else,” Emma repeated. Her lips were turning blue again, but for a completely different reason. Ice began working it’s way over her limbs, frosting over her armor. 

“Emma!” Iris cried, keeping the thing at bay, but Emma was vulnerable to any sort of attack Iris could use. “You have to fight it, Emma!”

_“It’s useless—she belongs to me now.”_

Iris growled deep in her throat—a feral noise at odds with her normally sweet nature; “Battlemaster! _Barrier!_ ”

Almost as if on reflex, Emma shook herself, a shimmering blue barrier erupting into place. Iris wasted no time, drawing effortlessly on her power, and the creature burst into flame. Emma recoiled as the thing _burned_ , being torn apart. It tried new shapes, and with each new shape came a new voice. 

It took the shape of his uncle, Leopold—Emma’s father; “ _What have you done, my little dove?”_

It shifted, and Xander recognized his cousin, Gerhardt; “ _You failed me, little sister. You failed us all. Why?”_

It took the form of Alyx; _“You broke everything. You’ll be truly alone now._ ”

It transformed into an unfamiliar young man with dark hair and pale eyes; “ _My love. You betrayed me. We could have been together, my love. My Emma—”_

With one last shriek, the thing finally died, crumbling to a pile of ash that was quickly swept away with the wind. For one tense second, all was silent, before Emma shattered under the weight of her grief. She didn’t sob so much as just tremble and hug herself tightly while silent tears rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks. Iris dropped to her knees, gathering Emma into her arms. 

“Ssh,” Iris soothed, holding her tightly. “It’s alright.”

“I’ll never… oh, Maker, he’s _gone_ , isn’t he?” Emma whimpered. “He’s gone, and I betrayed him.”

“No,” Iris protested. “You did nothing wrong, Emma. That _thing_ wasn’t him.”

“But I could hear him! I could hear him all the time. He was with me.”

“That _wasn’t him_ ,” Iris repeated, firmly but not unkindly. “It was a demon—a sophisticated one of despair—and it was using his form so you would never let him go.”

“I _can’t—_ ” Emma sobbed. 

“You _can!_ ” Iris countered. “It is time to let him go, Emma. I’m so sorry, but he’s never coming back; he’s gone and it’s time to move on.”

“I miss him.”

“I know. But… you’re alive, Emma. You’re alive and I will not lose _any_ family in this Maker-forsaken place,” Iris said. “You do not have my permission to give up! We have to keep moving forward—you were a Templar, were you not? Now _fight!_ ” 

Emma nodded, swiping the back of her hand across her face; “Yes. Alright.”

“That’s our girl,” Hawke assured with a grin. “Alright, now let’s move on.”

“ _So the heroes stand again,_ ” the Nightmare snarled. “ _I shall have to try harder, then_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full list of warnings: This chapter graphic descriptions of harm, illness, and death of major characters (death only in nightmares though); drowning; claustrophobia/walls closing in; Tranquility; and other general Nightmare bullshit.


	32. Chapter 32

“You know,” Emma panted, gingerly resting her hands on her knees. “I think this thing needs to _die_.”

“Agreed,” Brinn snarled. 

“I’ll wring it’s neck,” Hawke added.

“I don’t think it has a neck,” Xander mused, rotating his shoulders, trying to ease the burning exertion in his muscles. “But the rest of it, yeah.”

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation,” Iris said, swiping at a sticky streak of ichor on her forehead. “Personally, I’m sick of this Maker-damned _water_.”

“You’re telling me,” Emma murmured. 

The group picked their way across the landscape, their boots soaked through, their armor spattered with the blood of Demons and horrors of all stripes. The smell of burning flesh was strong, and everyone’s hair was standing up on end from the lightning-charged air. Xander _did_ notice a distinct lack of frost magic, as well as a wavering in their barriers that hadn’t been there before. He stole a glance at Emma in his peripheral vision; when she thought no one was watching her, she looked _haunted_. She looked into the middle distance like she was listening for something that had been prevalent but was no longer there. 

“Iris,” Xander whispered as he helped her down from the rocky outcropping. “You could… sense the demon’s distinct presence, no?”

“The despair demon?” Iris asked, glancing at Emma out of the corner of her eye. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“It’s gone? You’re _sure_ it’s gone?”

“Positive,” she replied. “It was… unnerving. I can’t believe i didn’t notice it before.”

“Why?” Xander pressed. “How… how long?”

“Honestly? As long as we’ve been together,” Iris said grimly. “She’s had that thing haunting her since Haven.”

“I didn’t know demons did shit like that,” he hissed, feeling a shiver run up his spine. 

“Despair demons are different,” Iris explained clinically. “For the longest time, the Templars and Senior Enchanters assumed they were perhaps demons of Sloth, considering the way they work. Sophisticated ones are closer to demons of Envy or this bastard we’re fighting now—they _watch_. Carefully. They find what will break you, and they apply pressure. This one… this one was _patient_. It was playing a long game, and I can see why. Emma’s despair ran deep.”

“Will she be alright?”

“She’s in pain, Xander. I don’t think she’s going to be ‘alright’ for a _very_ long time—being a mage and finding out you’ve attracted a demon can do terrible things to the best of us—but at least she now has the tools to heal. She’ll cope. She’s strong, after all.”

Xander opened his mouth to reply, but he snapped it shut again when they came across Justinia one more time. She was serene, her hands folded before her.

“The Nightmare knows you seek escape,” she said softly. “It draws closer and grows stronger with each moment. It’s efforts will increase.”

“What will it do? How could this _possibly_ get worse?” Alyx ground out between her teeth.

“Can you not feel it?” Justinia asked. “Can you not _hear_ it?”

She swept her arm out at the fog that had rolled in around their feet. Xander assumed it was perhaps just another artifact of the Fade, but now… now he could feel it. Impossibly old memories, suppressed and long forgotten, were dragged to the front. 

_The Grey Warden dies here!_

_I’m sorry...I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy._

“What the _fuck_ is that?” Hawke snarled, gripping her staff in her hands. 

“Its new tactic,” Brinn replied evenly, though the anger in the Antivan-accented voice clearly affected her. “It now summons our worst memories… I have a feeling we’re going to learn some interesting things about one another.”

“No,” Hawke whimpered, curling in on herself, looking _impossibly_ small. “No. I can’t… I _can’t_!”

The Nightmare must have sensed the cracks in Hawke’s resolve as it redoubled its efforts. 

_Just like that Templar, Westley. I’ll be just as dead. Just as gone._

“I can’t relive this again. I can’t… I can’t hear her voice again. _Please._ ”

_I’ll get to see Bethany again… and your father… my little girl has become so strong._

Hawke clamped her hands over her ears, recoiling from the voices. Her teeth visibly ground together, her jaw jumping and twitching with the motion. 

Xander grabbed Hawke by her forearms, giving her a gentle shake; “Hawke! Hawke! _Marian_ , pull yourself together! You’re making it worse!”

_Enchanter Trevelyan, as of now, you are being transferred to the Gallows in Kirkwall. Please pack your things and report for departure in one hour._

Alyx stiffened, turning towards the voices in the fog, snarling under her breath. 

_I’m sorry, Iris. Be good for me._

Xander felt a sharp twist in his chest at his own voice; a tiny hand slid between his fingers, and Iris was smiling up at him. Her breath was controlled and measured—perhaps a bit overly so.

“Other than the fireball incident I’d like to think I was good, don’t you?”

Xander huffed out a mirthless chuckle; he squeezed Iris’s hand. It wasn’t _real_. They were old memories, and they couldn’t hurt him anymore. At least, he thought as much, until he heard his mother’s voice, louder than all the others. 

_Do not speak to me with such familiarity after such a wanton display. I will chalk this up to a youthful indiscretion, but if this ever happens again, then you are no son of mine. Do you understand?_

Iris visibly flinched, turning back towards her brother and paling when she saw his reaction; “Xander? Xander, what’s wrong?”

He’d gone wan; his limbs felt numb as shame and terror gripped his heart. He clapped his hands over his ears, but it did little to muffle her words. 

“That’s Aunt Beatrice,” Emma said, turning towards Xander. “What—”

_Her family is good—strong blood, not a mage in the group._

Iris visibly recoiled, clutching her hands to her middle; “Mother actually said that?”

_Alexander, I have told you time and time again! You have a duty to this house! What you have done is shameful and disgusting!_

Xander shut his eyes tightly, his fingers digging into his temples. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t real—it wasn’t happening—but it was hard not to go back to that place. Being wrenched from Calvin’s arms, the sharp slap that followed his explanation, the hollow chill that followed when Calvin had called him ‘Lord Trevelyan’. 

“Maker’s breath, I forgot just how horrible her voice really was,” Iris spat. She gripped Xander’s forearm, giving him a little shake. “Xander, please stop. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m alright,” he said, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“Now is _obviously_ not the time to be speaking of Mother’s terrible parenting skills,” Iris growled. “But… promise me you’ll tell me about this? When we get out of here alive?”

“ _If_ we—”

“No!” Iris gave him a sharp shove. “Don’t _even_ think like that! That outcome is… it is unacceptable!”

“The Nightmare will continue,” Justinia interjected. Xander had almost forgotten she was there in the chaos. “It will grow stronger unless you recover yourself.”

Justinia had another crackling, glowing, golden orb in her hands. The Anchor flared fitfully, and Xander cradled his arm protectively against his chest. _More of my memories. What fun things will I learn now?_

“It is the only way, Inquisitor,” she insisted. “It’s the only way forward.”

Xander reached for the orb, that twisting feeling overwhelming him. This time, as his vision whited out, he was keenly aware of the burns on his wrists. Before he could cry out in pain, he is approaching the Breach in Haven… where he’d originally escaped the Fade.

_Running. Justinia reaching for him, his hand crackling painfully. So confused—why? How?_

_“The demons!” Justina cries._

_Spiders—always with the Maker damned spiders—are crawling behind him, growing ever closer. Demons are drawing closer, drawn to him or the Breach, he can’t tell. His boots hit the solid ground, and they start running. So close. They’ll get out._

_“Keep running!” he shouts._

_Justinia cries out in pain or fear—something has grabbed her! He rushes to her, reaching out to her. Her old, frail fingers slip slowly through his._

_“Go,” she whispers before she is dragged away._

“It was you,” Xander said in a small, defeated voice. The memories faded to the background, soft whispers against the blood pounding in his ears. The Divine… no, the thing wearing her face… it looked almost sad. “They… we all thought… it was _you_. You were the one behind me in Haven. But then you… she died.”

Something had shifted in the Divine… no, not the Divine. Her posture was straighter, her voice was both hers and not hers—male and female, human and not. Her grey eyes bored into him; “Yes.”

“So it’s a spirit,” Hawke spat. “Of course it is!”

“I’m sorry if I disappoint you,” the spirit said gently, her eyes boring into Hawke’s. Hawke deflated, something very much like shame flickering behind her eyes. 

The creature wearing the Divine’s face went very still, golden light pouring out of her body, until only a creature of pure light hovered above them. It was odd, but Xander felt almost calmed by her presence. 

“I wonder,” Iris mused. “Is she a memory? Or a perhaps the Divine’s spirit—she lingered instead of passing on?”

“If that is the story you wish to tell,” the spirit said. “It is not a bad one.”

“Are you seeing this?” Alyx breathed. “Sweet _fuck_ , but I think I’ve seen it all today.”

The chittering screeches of the Nightmare’s minions brought them out of their awe. The spirit glowed brighter, and rose above them; “The Nightmare has found us. I will clear the way forward. Hold off as long as you can.”

“Form up!” Brinn shouted, drawing her daggers. “We’re going to make it through this!”

“I’m with you!” Hawke replied, swirling her staff around her. 

~~~

The Nightmare’s lair was so close, they could practically feel it. The problem was they were so tired, they could scarcely lift their arms. The Nightmare cackled, it’s unnervingly smooth voice echoing in their ears. 

“ _Do you think you can fight me? I think I have proven that I am your every fear come to life. Hawke will shatter at but a touch, and I do believe your Battlemaster has fallen—her body just doesn’t realize it yet.”_

“That’s getting really fucking old,” Alyx snarled. 

“Why is it picking on me?” Hawke asked, planting her hands firmly on her hips. 

“ _I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The Demon army you fear? I command it! They are bound all through me!”_

They froze, looking at each other with disbelief in their eyes. 

“So that means,” Brinn began. 

“That if we beat it, we destroy the Demon army!” Hawke finished with a triumphant whoop. “Thanks, ‘Every-fear-come-to-life!’”

Xander grinned widely; “Finally, some good news. We’re almost at the rift, ladies. Keep it up!”

“I mean, you might not want to sound so smug,” Alyx quipped. “You might as well be daring the Old Gods to stop you right now.”

Xander froze when they descended the stairs—the Nightmare… it was _huge_. A massive, fat spidery creature as tall as Skyhold with too many eyes. _Always with the Maker-damned spiders!_ Below it was a tall, spindly Demon; perhaps a servant of the Nightmare?

“An Aspect,” Emma said. “It will guard the way. The Demon feeds on fear. Let it go hungry tonight.”

“Glad to see you’ve joined us again,” Brinn remarked. “Shall we?”

They surged forward, their weapons drawn. The distinct feeling of Emma’s barrier shimmered at the edges of his senses, stronger than before. Xander grinned widely before he actually came up to the Nightmare’s Aspect—power rolled off the creature like a thick, oily fog, and with the Nightmare behind it… they couldn’t win this fight. Not both of them together. Especially when the Nightmare’s voice entered their minds again—impossibly louder now that they were so close. 

_“You gave your life to them, Warden Commander Tabris. You left your Alienage for them. And now, they betray you. They will fall apart, no matter your suffering, and Zevran will breathe his last in your arms.”_

_“Nothing you do will stop the inevitable, Inquisitor. You will always be that scared little boy, always fulfilling Mother’s wishes. You’re a worthless failure. Everything you do is for nothing; little Iris will see you for what you are. Dorian will be repulsed. Who would want you after all that?”_

_“What do you think it will be, Hawke? Should it be Malcolm? Or Bethany? Which do you want? Which would_ Fenris _want? It doesn’t matter. Fenris is going to die, just like your family, just like everyone you ever cared about.”_

They visibly recoiled; Hawke curled her hands protectively around her middle, snarling like a Mabari bitch whose pups had been threatened. The Nightmare continued to speak, taunting Alyx, Iris and Emma, but its voice was quiet. Muffled. The spirit of the Divine hovered above them, crackling golden and bright. 

“I will buy you time,” the Divine whispered. “If you would… please tell Leliana; ‘I am sorry. I failed you too.’”

They averted their eyes, the glow overwhelming and warm, but when they could turn back, only the Aspect remained. The Nightmare was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the Divine. Xander let out a mighty war cry, shoring his defenses, and charging forward. 

“Hawke!” Emma called, brandishing her spirit blade. “Do you know how to cast a static cage?”

“I know crushing prison!” Hawke replied. 

“Close enough! Alyx, use a cage! Hawke, use a prison! On my signal!” 

“On it,” Alyx ascented, ducking low and swiping at a terror demon as it tried to erupt from the ground beneath her. She severed its head with ease as she danced out of range of its claws. 

Iris stood beside Xander, her own spirit blade flashing brilliantly golden. Flames licked up her arms, channeling through her hands and reinforcing her blade. With every swipe, thick, glowing lines appeared on the Nightmare Aspect’s body. When it summoned its fears—the spiders—her green eyes flashed golden, and four figures made of pure flame separated from her. In an inferno that reminded Xander more of a dance, they held the fears off while Iris effortlessly focused on her blade. 

“Now!” Emma yelled, swirling her hands above her head. A murky cloud formed over them, snowflakes and hail swirling around their legs. Alyx formed a cage around the Nightmare with practiced ease, the electric energy fencing the creature enough for Hawke’s crushing prison to pull it in on all sides. The Aspect roared in rage and agony while Emma’s blizzard tore at their armors and ripped at their robes, whipping their hair about their faces. 

Brinn dropped in and out of sight, disappearing into the shadows for a mere moment before she reappeared in a flash of silver. The pungent odor of Crow Venom permeated the air around them and a tiny flask dropped to the ground where Brinn had _just_ been standing. 

While the Nightmare Aspect was caged, Iris made a graceful gesture at the ground, and a field of fire mines erupted under the creature. Flames danced high, the heat near blistering, but it didn’t harm any of them. Iris had drawn enough energy to make her spirit blade crackle with flames, and it was clear the Aspect wouldn’t hold out for much longer. 

Ignoring the pain of the Anchor, and the burns on his wrists; ignoring the burning exertion and the blistering heat combined with the fierce cold, Xander made his final charge. His greatsword crashed against the creature’s barrier; it raked its claws against Xander’s neck. He cried out in agony as hot blood ran down into the collar of his breastplate. Taking advantage of his temporary distraction, one of the smaller fears sank its fangs into Xander’s leg. Iris immediately incinerated the thing, but not before letting out a pained cry when a Terror drove its talons into her side. Alyx was instantly at Iris’s flank, ducking in under the thing’s defenses. It’s talons clashed harmlessly against her breastplate, but a slice above her eye was bleeding profusely into her face and obstructing her vision. Xander had to end it _now_. 

He dove, throwing _everything_ behind his attack. He brought his sword down with all his strength, and the Aspect was not quite prepared for the ferocity of his attack. Despite taking the demon’s talons to his side, his sword crashed onto its skull, splitting it cleanly in two in a fountain of black ichor. As much as they wanted to rest—just for a moment—the chittering of the actual Nightmare returned. So the Divine hadn’t destroyed it. The rift… it was _right there_. 

“Go,” Hawke said with resolve. “I’ll cover your escape.”

“Alone?” Brinn snarled. “Not on your life.”

The spider was rising again, and soon, they wouldn’t be able to proceed at all. He didn’t want to make this choice! He _couldn’t_.

“I’ll stay with you,” Emma remarked gravely. 

“ _What?_ ” Iris snapped. “No! We all leave together! We can handle this!”

“Stop it, Iris,” Emma snapped. “You were right. I am a Templar! This is my _duty!_ The Divine weakened the thing, but… but just in case. In case we can’t handle it…”

“No!” Iris shrieked. “Emma, no! There has to be a better way!”

“Once your feet touch the stones of Adamant,” Brinn said with final solemnity. “Count to sixty. If we haven’t come through, we are dead, and close the Rift behind you.”

Xander nodded, grabbing Iris around the waist and lifting her bodily. Brinn threw a flask, Emma activated her fade step, and Hawke summoned a field of lightning. Ignoring Iris’s screams, he grabbed Alyx’s hand with his free one and ran. He did not look back. 

~~~

A crackle of green light in the center of the courtyard. Zevran turned to see the Inquisitor stumble out of a rift, a small body slung over his shoulder—Iris, pounding desperately on his back. Alyx followed them a moment later, looking back expectantly. 

Zevran had watched them tumble from the battlements. He’d seen them fall—as Brinn had fallen—and here they stood before them. 

He could not allow himself that hope. It would destroy him. 

He watched the Trevelyans as they waited, staring into the rift, Iris still locked tightly in Xander’s arms. 

Movement, suddenly—

A tiny body stumbled from the rift. He knew her in an instant, her red hair a beacon to him. Her eyes found his and—

 _He had almost lost her_. The weight of it hit him like a battering ram to the chest. He took two dazed steps forward before she reached him, launching herself into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, stifling his sobs into her neck. 

“The fucking Fade, _again_ ,” she said, arms tightening around his neck. 

Zevran tried to speak but the words stuck in his throat, a choked sort of sound escaping him instead. Brinn’s hand went to the back of his head, smoothing strokes through his hair. 

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m okay. I came back,” she crooned, her soft voice the only balm for his weary heart.

“ _Mi vida_ ,” he said finally, inhaling deeply. It was only the truth; she gave him life. She always had. 

~~~

Xander raised his hand, crackling green energy jumping towards the rift as he stood ready to close it. Alyx just stared, numb. _They weren’t going to make it_.

In a flash, Brinn tumbled out of the rift and immediately dashed towards Zevran. Alyx saw her glance back at the rift, though—Emma and Hawke hadn’t come after her. Alyx looked at Xander, whose lips were moving as he counted under his breath. 

_Count to sixty. If we haven’t come through, we are dead._

Xander raised his hand towards the rift, a grim expression twisting his face. Just as he began to pull his hand back to close it, Hawke tumbled out, Emma draped over her shoulders. There was a rush of movement as they came through _—_ Sebastian rushing to Emma’s side, Fenris wrapping Hawke in a fierce embrace the moment Sebastian had taken Emma from her.

Alyx let out a ragged breath. They were alright. A healer was immediately summoned to see to Emma’s injuries. Brinn had Zevran in her arms, his face buried in her neck. Hawke and Fenris _—_ Alyx chuckled softly, watching all the averted glances surrounding the couple, as their embrace had quickly turned to something a bit more passionate.

Alyx was happy for them. She was fiercely, fiercely glad they hadn’t lost anyone that day.

 _Please stay calm. Everything will be alright soon_.

Alyx flinched, wrapping her arms around herself. She wished more than anything that Grier were in her arms; she _needed_ to hold her, to know she was _safe._ Whole. 

A huge hand landed on her shoulder, and Alyx’s eyes darted up. Bull was giving her a smile that was too knowing, and she almost wanted to flinch away, but when he pulled her into an enormous bear hug she allowed it, letting herself be enveloped by his massive arms.

“Whatever happened in there,” he growled, “it’s not real. Don’t let it get into your head.”

Alyx nodded, and Bull released her with a forceful slap to the shoulder.

“You ever need to hit something, though, you can always come find me.”

She nodded again, sharply, giving him a grin that was only a bit watery. 

“Alyx!”

She turned to look over her shoulder; Anders was dashing towards her, something frantic and desperate in his expression. “You’re alive,” he said, face going slack with relief and shock. He threw his arms around her as soon as he reached her, pulling her into a crushing hug. Then he pulled back, long fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, and pressed his lips to hers in a desperate, bruising kiss. She froze for just a moment before relaxing into him, her hands winding around his waist. After a long moment he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. Alyx had to force down the urge to chase after his lips. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I know you— _Grier._ I just… Maker, I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured.

“Don’t apologize. I’m here,” she said. “A little beaten up, maybe, but you haven’t lost me yet.”

“Thank the Maker,” he said, and she felt his sigh of relief against her chin. “Are you alright?” 

Her only response was to tighten her hold around his waist, ducking her head to bury her face against his chest. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, fingers running gently over the back of her head and neck, rubbing soothing circles there. 

“Grier,” she choked out. “I’m never going to see her again. I can’t…”

“Hey, no,” Anders said, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her back to look in her eyes. “You will find her, I know you will.”

“Will I?” Alyx asked, hating how weak her voice sounded. 

“ _Yes.”_ Anders hooked his fingers under the chains around her neck and pulled the amulet and Grier’s phylactery free. He lifted the phylactery and held it in front of her face. “Remember what you told me in your letters. You cannot lose hope, not as long as this still glows. She is _alive._ You will find each other. Do you hear me?”

Alyx nodded, winding her arms around his neck and letting out a deep breath. “Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Anytime,” Anders replied.

Alyx’s attention was drawn suddenly by the commotion around the spot where the rift had been. There was a crowd of people—too many—around where Emma lay motionless on the ground. Alyx could just see the face of the healer who’d rushed to attend to her; the woman’s face was tense, barking frantic orders at those around her.

“Emma,” Alyx gasped.

Without a word, Anders slipped out of her embrace and ran over; the crowd around Emma parted easily for him, and at once Alyx saw the telltale blue glow of his healing magic. She rushed after him, falling to her knees a few feet away.

Emma’s blonde hair was matted with blood, her face scattered with nasty cuts. There were bruises— _Maker,_ there were bruises _everywhere._ Her leather armor was slashed in several places, her chestplate dented. It was… oh _fuck,_ it was bad. 

“Please wake up,” Alyx whispered on a shaky breath. “You can hate me forever if you want, just _please wake up.”_ Her voice broke at the end over a ragged sob, and she felt fresh tears streaming down her face. 

She watched and waited as Anders worked. Time seemed to drag on endlessly, and Alyx couldn’t tell if Emma was even improving.

“Dammit, Princess, come on!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare leave it like this!”

~~~

If Dorian wasn’t so _keenly_ aware of the Inquisitor, he might not have seen the uncharacteristic stiffness in Xander’s stance. Blood poured over his armor, staining the gold breastplate dark. His hair had escaped the neat, practical tail he kept it in, falling over his shoulder in a thick wave. He was filthy and covered in Maker-knows-what, but…

_Kaffas, he’s alive!_

Xander spoke quietly with Tabris, and Dorian found himself drawn to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Commander and Iris, locked in a fierce embrace that left him feeling like a voyeur in its presence. It was so _achingly_ sweet and intimate… The elf—Fenris—was holding Hawke close, something very close to _happiness_ on the man’s face as he rocked her back and forth. The hardest to witness was the Prince. He had the wan complexion of a man in total shock; Dorian wasn’t much of a healer, but he knew enough about the human body to know that had Emma taken a worse hit, she wouldn’t have made it as far as she had. 

Xander stepped away from his cousins, leading Tabris onto a raised platform. All eyes drew to him like a beacon. 

“Wardens!” Tabris called, crossing her arms in a way that brooked no argument. “We have struck a blow against a servant of the Blight, even as Corypheus tried to destroy us from within! As senior ranking member of the Order, I have chosen to ally with the Inquisition. My lord Inquisitor, the Wardens stand ready, if you will have us.”

“Stay and fight!” Xander replied, his hand—his _left_ hand—curled into a fierce fist in front of him. A confident smirk tinged his features, but it didn’t reach those spring green eyes. “Do whatever you can to help. ‘In war, victory,’ and we are still at war. We will do what we can to protect you from Corypheus and his Venatori, but in the meantime, there are plenty of demons to kill!”

Tabris nodded, saluting once; “I will prepare a warning for Weisshaupt. We will _not_ be caught off guard again. The Wardens will join you in Skyhold when we can—let me gather what remains of my forces.”

“No, Brinn,” the tall Marcher boy—Carver—interjected. “ _We_ will gather what remains of our forces and _we_ will meet the Inquisitor back in Skyhold. Your mission… it’s not yet done.”

“Carver,” Tabris said quietly. “I don’t… There may not _be_ a cure.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try, Commander,” the elf mage countered. “You trained us well—we have Hawke—er…Carver—to lead us. Take Zevran, and ride with the sunrise.”

Tabris gave a watery look that, to an average onlooker, was probably rather neutral. Dorian recognized the surge of gratitude well. He also recognized that the sharp salute she gave to Carver Hawke was _deeply_ symbolic to her. She began discussing with them the logistics of what would come, and out of the corner of his eye, Dorian could see Xander sneaking away. He followed. 

Xander held himself tall while he was still in view of everyone else; he nodded to an Inquisition scout when he said Erimond was alive and awaited judgement. Dorian personally wanted to strangle the man. Slowly. Painfully. He thought of all the awful things he could do to that man for a myriad of crimes—the least of which being a cliched stain on his homeland. 

As the Inquisitor made his way to a more secluded corner, Dorian feared for a moment he might flee. That everything was too much for him and he would fly into the night, never to be seen again. But he just turned a corner and slumped against an unmarred section of wall. The weight of whatever happened to him settled onto those broad shoulders, and despite his size, Xander appeared so very, very _small_. 

Dorian approached, making as much noise as he could. When Xander didn’t turn to react—or worse, send him away—he chanced a hand on his arm. Now that he was closer, Dorian could see… the rake of talons; burn marks across his arms; bruises and a myriad of other injuries he couldn’t see… despite Xander’s confidence, Dorian had almost _lost_ him. 

_Never again._

When Xander turned those eyes on him, Dorian smiled. He _had_ to, because he was _here_. And he was alive! The Maker or Andraste or bloody _someone_ had seen fit to give him a second chance, and he would not waste it. He reached between them, capturing Xander’s fingers and interlocking them with his own, squeezing tight. A soft sigh of contentment escaped Xander’s lips as he leaned into the touch, stepping into Dorian’s space. He smelled like sweat and salt and blood and oil… but it was an intoxicating mixture. Dorian’s heart beat out a punishing rhythm, bruising against his ribs as he leaned closer. Xander’s lips parted, as if he were going to say something, and Dorian stopped him with a finger pressed against those perfectly full lips. 

_Don’t ruin this moment by speaking, you beautiful man. It will shatter… and you or I will lose our nerve and we’ll run and it will never be this perfect again._

He moved his hand from those lips, rasping his thumb over the stubble on Xander’s strong jaw. His fingertips moved along the fuzz where Xander kept his head shaved, and he leaned into Dorian’s touch like a spoiled cat. The smile on his face seized Dorian’s heart in a vice grip, and something impossibly _sweet_ twisted in his chest. Verdant eyes could just be seen under the fan of impossibly dark lashes as his eyes fluttered closed, his breath ghosting over what little bare skin Dorian had revealed on his arm. 

_Maker, what did I do to deserve this? Please, don’t take it from me. Not yet… I need… I hope I can…_

Dorian couldn’t hold back anymore. Not after _everything_ —all his regrets and his fears—he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he’d let the moment pass. Closing the distance by degrees, feeling Xander’s wavering breath on his parted lips, Dorian pressed the most tentative of kisses to that perfect mouth. When Xander responded by deepening their kiss—making an enthusiastic sound in his throat and holding Dorian tight to that broad chest, Dorian began to believe that there truly was perfection in the world.

Or at least something very nearly like it. 


	33. Chapter 33

With the wounded and the prisoners, the trip back to Skyhold would be long and arduous. Hawke could tell that much. It would be a brutal two weeks (at least) of camp beds and minimalist little tents as they trekked all the way across Orlais. It would be terrible conditions under the best of circumstances, but with everything aching, the fatigue, and her stomach rebelling at anything other than weak tea and dry toast, it was _torture._

Well, almost torture. She rather liked the extended camping trip with Fenris—it reminded her of the good old days of hunting slavers and fighting Tal Vashoth and giant spiders—and watching him spread out on his pillow, completely content and comfortable and _relaxed_ in her presence was a special privilege. He’d come so far, and she was so proud of him… she smoothed his bangs out of his eyes, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to the three dots in the middle of his forehead, and it was a testament to his mental state that he didn’t shoot awake like she’d shocked him. After carefully combing his hair back from his face, arranging it on the pillow behind him, she stepped into the fresh air of the camp. The air was slightly cooler—and a touch more humid—now that they were heading into the Dales proper. The quiet of the camp was unnerving at the same time that it utterly relaxed her. It would be easy to forget everything that happened at Adamant at such times, with the sound of a nearby mountain lake, birdsong permeating the early morning air, and the distance a few days brought. 

_“Hawke, look out!”_

_A body collides with her side, tossing her to the stones below. The sudden breath of movement too close to her shows exactly how easily the demon had come to sending her flying, threatening her life and…_

_Emma flies back with a soft huff of pain; her head cracks wetly against the ground and she goes so still… she’d flown back ten feet? Twenty? Further?_

Hawke pressed her fingertips to her forehead, trying to banish _that sound_ again. She would never forget it as long as she lived. It didn’t elude her that she owed the Battlemaster her life on top of the the life of her baby. It had been _too close_ , and her bravado in the Fade seemed so _selfish_ now, where before it had almost seemed heroic.

“Hawke?” a soft voice, thick with sleep, called from her tent. She smiled softly, sliding back through the flap. Fenris grinned at her, reaching out like a child reaches for their favorite comfort item. His hair was a cloud of snow-white tangles around his face. 

“Good morning, sleepy,” she said, sitting on the camp bed next to him. He pulled her into a soft, chaste kiss before ducking to place a kiss over her belly button. “As much as _I_ appreciate that, the thing is about the size of a peanut, so I don’t think it can feel Papa kisses yet.”

“I’ve never been partial to ‘papa,’” Fenris said dryly, playing with the longer strands of hair that framed her face. “But I’ll let the Peanut decide, I suppose.”

She giggled—high and bright—at his use of the endearment. She took his hands from her stomach, interlacing their fingers and pressing kisses to his knuckles; “Are you… you’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad?” Fenris looked at her, genuinely puzzled at her words. “Maker, Hawke… why would I be mad? You are… you’re turning me into a _father._ ” 

“To be fair, you definitely _helped_ in that regard.”

He shot her a sardonic look, peppering her temple and cheek with soft kisses; “Hawke, I want to assure you that I could not be happier about this turn of events. It’s something… I’ve always thought about it, but I’ve never allowed myself to believe it would happen.”

“You thought about it?” Hawke canted her head slightly in askance.

“Of course I have,” he said. “I always assumed that it couldn’t… that you would not want it, or that—”

She pressed her fingers against his lips, melting a bit when he turned those forest green eyes on her; “I see what path you’re heading down, my love. And don’t go there. You know you’re the only one for me, yes? No one else would put up with my antics.”

Fenris’s wide, open gaze shuttered a bit when he pulled back from her; “Hawke, I… how long did you know? About _this_?” He made a slight gesture at her stomach. 

“Honestly, about an hour after we fell into the Fade,” she answered, hugging her middle protectively. “It’s a bit of a long story, but…”

“So when you offered to stay behind,” Fenris accused, his voice still _shockingly_ even. “You _knew_?”

“I did,” she admitted. 

“ _Why_?”

Hawke heaved a great sigh, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. She’d thought about it… she knew in her heart why she’d made the decision that she did. She’d been having trouble putting the sentiment into words. But for Fenris… for him, she’d try. He deserved that much from her. 

“Fenris,” she began, taking his hands in hers. To his credit, he didn’t stiffen or immediately pull them away. “As long as you’ve known me, was there ever a time when I didn’t act in the service of others? Other than the Deep Roads expedition? It’s always been… working for my family. And then trying to save Kirkwall. Then trying to end the rebellion. As long as you’ve known me, I have been ‘Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.’ Andraste’s Golden Asscrack, Varric introduced me to Xander as exactly _that_ , and that dwarf is my best friend. 

“The moment I started thinking of myself as a mother… I wouldn’t be _Hawke_ , anymore, if that makes sense. I fell into that chasm as the Champion, and until my feet touched the stones of Adamant, I had to remain the Champion. It _had_ to be more important that I shoulder the burden and protect the ones I love instead of myself until we were out. While people were relying on me, though, I couldn’t afford that luxury.”

Hawke let herself peter off into silence while Fenris processed her words. It was a concept she was used to—her fierce, mother-Mabari protective streak was one of her most fatal flaws—and she _hoped_ that Fenris understood. If he didn’t, she would _get_ it… half the time, she didn’t understand her own motivations for things like this. 

“Oh Hawke, that is so very… so very _you_ ,” Fenris said, running his hand through his hair. He wouldn’t look at her for a while, instead staring at his hands. Hawke resisted the urge to to take those hands in hers, choosing to give him the space he needed. “But I can’t… I can’t keep worrying about you like this. Seeing you fall into that chasm...it nearly killed me. When you did not immediately follow Brinn out of the rift, I was devastated. For those ten seconds, I honestly believed you were lost to me forever. I _cannot_ go through that again. I _will not._ ”

“I know,” she replied. “That’s why… Fenris, I think it’s time to stop. All this. The fight—it’s not our fight anymore.”

He whipped his gaze around to her—stricken and baffled all at once. It was adorable. 

“I can’t keep battling the world’s battles like they are mine and mine alone. My time… it’s up. It’s over. My baby brother is Warden Commander and the Trevelyans are leading the Inquisition, and everyone we’ve ever known has come into their own. Even Anders… which surprises me, don’t get me wrong. It’s time for me to set it all down… it’s time for me to put down the mantle of the Champion and return to Kirkwall as Marian.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected from Fenris at that point, but it certainly wasn’t what she got. He shoved away from the camp bed, pacing the length of their tent in three long strides—he made the loop a few times, and she watched his thoughts flicker over his trepidatious face. Honestly, she was starting to get nervous. 

“Fenris, _say something_ , won’t you?” she asked with a nervous chuckle. “I just sort of poured my heart out to you, and this ominous silence is a little nerve-wracking.”

“Hawke, are you married to the idea of going back to Kirkwall?” 

_Well, that I wasn’t expecting._

“No, I’m married to you,” Hawke replied dryly, deflecting his odd line of questioning with her favorite method. “Besides I don’t think you can marry ideas outside of Val Royeaux.”

Fenris shot her a withering look; “I’m serious, Hawke.”

“I mean,” she said, dragging her fingers through her hair. “No? I mean, so long as we’re together, right?”

“Right,” he answered, resuming his pacing. “Kirkwall is still very much in need of repairs, especially in Lowtown.”

“This is true,” Hawke said. “But I don’t think either of us is really qualified to help with that. Besides, I’m pretty sure little Peanut here wouldn’t be too pleased with Mama doing a whole lot of heavy lifting.”

“Ferelden was your home; do you have a desire to stay there? To find a home where you came from?”

Hawke seriously considered his suggestion. She’d never even considered Ferelden, which she figured answered the question; “To be honest, no. Ferelden is too tied up with memories and old pains… that was my old life. It wouldn’t be the same. Not without...everyone.”

“So the Free Marches would be an ideal place for us to return to.”

“I don’t know?” she replied. “I suppose? Why, did you have somewhere in mind?”

Fenris stopped pacing and turned his gaze onto her, his eyes alight with warmth and total adoration; she felt a creeping heat work it’s way up her neck as that beautiful, rare smile that was only for _her_ touched his lips. 

“I had considered Starkhaven for a time, it’s in a much better state than Kirkwall and…” he paused and raked his fingers through his hair. “And there’s a prestigious position within Sebastian’s guard waiting for me if we go there.”

Hawke clapped her hand over her mouth, staring at him in utter shock. She remembered a years-ago, half-whispered conversation between Sebastian and Fenris. Back before they were together; back when they were younger. She remembered Sebastian offering a place at his side for Fenris, but back then it had been conjecture. A maybe, at best. Now, Sebastian was a real, honest-to-Andraste prince. Having an elf in the court could cause _quite_ the scandal… 

And on top of that, should Fenris _accept_ the job, it would be a massive step forward for him. He wouldn’t be able to slide in and out of the shadows; he couldn’t bury what happened to him behind an impenetrable wall anymore. He would stand tall at Sebastian’s side. 

“Do… do you want the job?” 

“I… I think I do. I want to put my skills and training to a proper use. To take what was done to me and to make it something worthwhile.”

Hawke smiled…grinned so big her cheeks hurt; “And you’re sure?”

“As sure as I’m going to be,” Fenris replied with a crooked smile. “Besides, Starkhaven seems as good a place as any, does it not?” 

Hawke chuckled, shaking her head. Her sweet, sweet man… saying everything at the same time he said _nothing._ Some things would never change; “Then I’m with you. I’ve heard Starkhaven is beautiful this time of the year.”

~~~

Sebastian awoke filled with sick dread. For three nights, he’d been banished from Emma’s tent, and for three mornings, he’d awoken with the nauseating fear that when he went back to her side, she would be gone. He flew out of bed, tossing his roughspun blanket to the side and grabbing the tunic he’d shed the day before. He yanked it on over his head, and not bothering to school his hair back into place, he stamped into his boots and strode with purpose across the compound. 

People were just starting to get up and go about their morning duties. The most activity could be seen in the direction of the healers’ tents. There were so many wounded, and judging by the carefully-wrapped forms—male and female—at least a half-dozen more had perished in the night. His steps quickened. He’d told the healers that if her condition changed to come fetch him, but part of him felt… 

_No! Don’t think that way!_

When she’d come out of the Fade, deposited lifeless into his arms, he’d feared the worst. Her color had been _awful_ and her breath so thin and thready he’d feared she’d expire right there in his embrace. He’d cried. He’d cried harder than he could remember. He felt so selfish, being so upset that of all the people who’d fallen in, _she_ was the only one to come out fighting for life. It shamed him, and yet… 

_I can’t get through this without her. I need her!_

He approached her tent, knowing it to be hers by the sentinel keeping vigil. Alyx had set herself up outside, looking haggard and exhausted, like she’d slept about as well as he had. 

“Alyx,” Sebastian sighed, his breath caught when he saw her face. The red rims on her eyes could mean any number of things, but—

“She’s not dead,” she said. “There’s no change. _Obstinate bitch_ , she’s not improving at all!”

“Who’s in there with her?” Sebastian asked. “Anyone?”

Alyx froze, her eyes going wide, gauging him carefully before she answered, “Anders.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, scowling at the tent flap like it had insulted him. While the abomination had been helpful at Adamant, he certainly didn’t have—

“Stop,” Alyx snapped suddenly. “He volunteered so the other healers could conserve their mana for less taxing cases. Anders is… he’s a healer, Sebastian. And he wanted to help.”

“For you?” he asked, quirking his brow at her. 

“No,” Alyx answered solemnly. “For _you_. He seeks to repent for past mistakes, and this seems as good a start as any.”

“Why don’t you come in with me?” Sebastian asked, more for the want of a buffer than an actual need for company. 

“I…I don’t think I should. Not yet.”

“Why not?” he pressed, genuinely curious.

Alyx just gave him a _look_ , one eyebrow raising infinitesimally. “You know _why._ Just go in.”

Sebastian twisted his fingers nervously, staring at the tent flap; “I don’t… I mean… what if…” 

_Maker, I’ve never been this nervous. Ever. Why did it have to be Anders, of all people?_

Alyx was staring at him, brow furrowed. “You’ve scarcely left her bedside for two seconds these past few days; why are you suddenly staring at that tent flap as if it’s going to eat you?” 

“Anders is in there,” he answered, like it told her everything. Never mind that he’d tried to kill the man a mere three days earlier. “I shouldn’t… I should wait until he’s done, yes?”

“He could be hours,” Alyx said. When Sebastian still hesitated, she rolled her eyes. “He’s not going to _bite,_ you know. Well, not unless you ask nicely.”

Sebastian flushed pink, making a disgusted noise under his breath; “I think I’ll just head in. Come let me know if Xander wants to move today.”

Anders was hovering over Emma’s bedside, his hands glowing brilliant blue. The smell of blood and death was near overwhelming. Her face was still covered in cuts and scrapes, an ugly bruise blossoming out of the majority of her cheek. It all stood out starkly against her scrubbed-clean skin and freshly washed hair. Nothing so beautiful and vibrant should be present in the face of such ugliness. 

Anders jumped when he caught Sebastian out of the corner of his eye; “How long have you been standing there? Maker’s balls, but you could make a noise or something.”

“How is she?” Sebastian asked, ignoring the blasphemy. “Any improvements?”

“If you want me to be honest, then no. No change for better or for worse,” Anders answered, returning to his work. “She’s stubborn—I’ll give her that. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

Sebastian had to smile fondly, pulling the stool to her bedside once again; “May I?”

“By all means. Just stay out of the way.”

Sebastian sat awkwardly in silence, watching the man work. Despite his...prior proclivities, the man was a talented healer. Even feeling the residual energy rolling off of him felt soothing—coaxing—rather than forceful. He remembered Anders’ spells so many years before—Maker, it felt like another life. 

“None of the other healers would tell me,” Sebastian muttered darkly. “I asked, and they dodged my questions every time. You won’t spare my feelings, though… what’s wrong with her? How bad is it? Why won’t she wake?”

Anders drew a sharp hiss in between his teeth; “I won’t lie to you, Sebastian. It’s _bad_.”

“I’ve seen you heal Hawke from the brink of death,” Sebastian protested. “And she just jumped back up and ready for a fight! What’s the difference?”

The look on the other man’s face could only be described as anguished.He made a noise under his breath and turned towards Sebastian; “That’s because Hawke wanted to be healed.”

“What?”

“Hawke _wanted_ to be healed. She never resisted me—not for an instant—and that made it easier. But _her_ … she’s fighting me. If I was less skilled than I am, she wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“She’s… she doesn’t want to be healed?” Sebastian asked. “How is that _possible_? Can’t you just… I don’t know, make it work?”

“I wish I could,” he answered. “I’d have lost fewer patients back in the day if I could. But the human body is a remarkably difficult thing. It _has_ to work with you. Most people… they want the pain to stop. They want the broken arm to be whole and the stab in the leg to the be repaired, so it’s just a question of giving that an outlet. I’ve _never_ seen anything like this.”

Sebastian paled further, scrubbing his hands through his hair. It badly needed a wash. And a comb; “What are her injuries?” 

Anders shrugged; “I haven’t found all of them yet. Broken bones; punctured lung; buckets of internal bleeding; cracked skull… just to name a few. You don’t want me going into detail.”

Sebastian went quiet, sighing deeply. He raked his hands through his hair, watching her still form with her thin, reedy breathing. He took her hand in his—such slim, delicate fingers, considering the things she could do with them. They were cold—colder than usual—in his shaking grasp. 

“I’ll… I’ll leave you alone,” Anders said softly. He placed an awkward hand on his shoulder, squeezing in what he had to assume was a comforting gesture, but it felt… hollow. _Sebastian_ felt hollow. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“Thank you, Anders,” Sebastian replied, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. It was _so hard_ to keep his emotions in check as he willed her fingers to twitch, her eyelids to flutter… _anything_ to show that she was alive and fighting. 

The quiet stretched on for too long, as he knelt at her bedside for Maker knew how long. Hours? He couldn’t say. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, trying to keep everything behind that careful veneer, just in case someone came in to check on her. But no one came, and Sebastian was alone with her and his thoughts. 

“Please,” he rasped, not sure what he was asking for. Maybe it was for her life, or for her to fight. Maybe it was for that future that may or may not ever exist. Maybe it was just for her to open her _Maker damned eyes_ and call him a sanctimonious bastard, or to smile, or to stutter and trip over her words or even to just rebuff him as she had that night in the tavern. He squeezed her fingers harder, willing them to _twitch_ and _move._ “Please, sweetheart, don’t do this to me. _Please_ , Emma… let me see those beautiful eyes again. Let me see that smile. _Please_.”

“‘Sweetheart?’ Oh, Maker, Sebastian, you _have_ changed.”

Sebastian shot to his feet, knocking over his stool and jumping at the clatter it made. Hawke waited at the tent’s flap, maintaining a careful distance; her eyes were wide. Sebastian sighed deeply; “Sorry, Hawke. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I just got here,” she replied. “How is she?”

“No change,” he answered flatly. “Is the Inquisitor moving today?”

“He’s just started to gather the camp,” Hawke replied. “The healers will want to move her with minimal disruption.”

Sebastian sighed, giving Emma’s hand a quick squeeze. He brushed her hair back from her forehead; he’d have kissed it had Hawke not been there. He turned to the woman with a sad look in his eye; “I understand congratulations are in order?”

“What? Who told you?” 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching; “I’ve seen few breasts in this world as spectacular as yours, Hawke; the change is obvious.”

Hawke clapped her arms over her chest, wincing as she flushed to her hairline; “You can tell? Sebastian, how—”

He laughed; “Relax, Hawke. Fenris told me.”

She opened her mouth and closed it a few times; “You were teasing.”

“I’ve been known to do it from time to time,” he chuckled, feeling the mirth dry in his throat almost instantly. “Did you need something from me? Or did you just come to kick me out?”

“Actually, I didn’t know you were here,” Hawke replied. “I came to check on _her_. I’m… I owe her my life.”

Sebastian tilted his head in askance; “What happened in there? On the other side of the rift?”

“It’s... not something I’m looking forward to sharing. But when she stayed behind… she saved my life. She sustained those injuries taking a blow meant for me.”

“These Trevelyans,” Sebastian snorted. “ _So_ self-sacrificing.”

“Indeed,” she said, curling her hands around her middle. “But she saved two lives. And for that, I will be forever grateful.”

“She’s something special.” He turned back towards her briefly, fighting the sick fear that told him the moment he turned his back, she would be gone. 

“You love her.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I’m not sure,” he answered, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyelids until stars exploded behind them.

“At least you’re honest,” Hawke quipped. “But also _remarkably_ dense. Even when it comes to yourself. Just… tell me honestly. How would you feel if she didn’t make it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Answer the question, Sebastian,” Hawke pressed. “Yes, you would be sad. You would grieve. We would _all_ be sad. But how would _you_ feel. Now dig deep for me, and answer honestly.”

She poked him in the chest, staring hard. He felt _exposed_ in a way that wasn’t entirely comfortable; “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do.”

“I would spend the rest of my life alone,” he answered after a time. “For no one else could ever take her place.”

“Why?” she continued. “If she’s nothing to you—”

“She’s _not_ nothing!” he snarled. “Maker, Hawke, it’s not eternal love or nothing. You of all people know—”

“I didn’t say she was ‘nothing,’” Hawke countered. “I also said nothing of eternal love; that’s a leap you made on your own. I said she was nothing _to you._ What is she to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You _do!_ ” Hawke snapped. “You _do_ know, Sebastian!”

“She’s…” he faltered, gripping his hair between his fingers. “She’s precious to me. She means _the world_ to me.”

“So she’s a friend? Because I remember a time when you said those exact words to _me,_ Seb.”

“Of course she’s more than a friend, Hawke. If she wants more from me—”

“What, then? A shadow of me? A pale replacement, if you will?”

“Of course not! She’s—”

“Then _what_?”

He surged forward, gripping her upper arms in a bruising grasp; “I _can’t,_ Hawke! Don’t you understand!? I can’t! If I say it, then it becomes _real_ and if I do lose her, I won’t be able to handle it! I could go back in there _right now_ and she could be at the Maker’s side, and if I say that I love her, then I’m just begging Him to take her from me!”

“Oh, Sebastian,” Hawke sighed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He shook with the weight of what he just said! _Maker, he loved her?_ He leaned into Hawke’s touch as great, fat, silent tears streamed down cheeks ruddy with emotion. Hawke rubbed soothing circles on his back, shushing quietly. He felt like a small child being comforted by his mother, but he didn’t care. “Oh, Sebastian, you’re in _love._ ”

“Was I that obvious?” he quipped around a hiccup. 

“No,” she answered smoothly. “But I know you. We’ll do everything we can. I _promise_.”

“What if she doesn’t make it,” he whimpered. “What if she—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Hawke said, pulling him back to look him in the eye. “Don’t go there, alright? We will cross that bridge if and when we get to it, but until that time, we’re going to act like that bridge doesn’t _fucking_ exist! Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Sebastian answered around the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Hawke. I couldn’t do this without you.”

~~~

The flap of Alyx’s tent opened, and Anders stepped in. He was dressed once more in his Warden armor, a small pack slung over one shoulder. 

“You’re leaving,” she said. She meant it as a question, but it came out a little more like an accusation.

“Yes,” Anders said softly. “Warden business, you know.”

“Warden business,” Alyx repeated dully. “What about Emma? I told you about what happened back at Skyhold, I can’t… You can’t just leave her to die, Anders, please!”

Anders dropped his pack, rushing forward to wrap his arms around her. She hid her face in his chest, slightly embarrassed by her sudden outburst. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m not going to lie to you; I’m not sure what will happen to Emma. But I’ve done all I can for her. It’s up to her at this point.”

Alyx was quiet for a moment, just wrapping her arms tighter around his waist. “Why do you have to leave, though? Please, Anders, I…” _I need you,_ she very carefully didn’t say. 

“Someone has to report to Warden Command at Weisshaupt. They need to know what happened here.”

Alyx leaned back, narrowing her eyes at him. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Anders?”

He laughed. “I know, I know. But… I’ve avoided my duty for long enough. It’s time for me to accept responsibility,” he said firmly.

“Fair enough,” Alyx conceded. “I just wish _responsibility_ weren’t taking us in different directions. Again. I’ve… I’ve missed you.”

“And I you. I won’t be gone forever, you know. I’ll come and find you, I promise. See this Skyhold for myself, maybe.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, smiling at him. “You know, Anders… Don’t let this go to your head, but you do clean up pretty nice.”

Anders chuckled. “I could say the same of you, _Chamberlain,”_ he said, grinning at the face she made. “I should go. Sigrun will be waiting for me.”

“Okay,” Alyx said, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. “Be safe.”

“I make no promises,” Anders said with a soft laugh.

“Okay, come back in one piece then.”

“Yes, ser.” With one final squeeze he released her, stepping back and retrieving his pack from the ground. “You be safe, too,” he said, a strange intensity in his eyes.

Alyx smiled. “I make no promises.”

“Oh, and Alyx?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but happy birthday,” Anders said, giving her a soft smile.

Alyx scrunched her nose at the reminder, but smiled at him nonetheless. “Oh just get out of here, would you?” she said with a chuckle.

Anders laughed under his breath, and then nodded at her and turned towards the flap again.With one last fond smile, he turned away and ducked back through the tent flap. Alyx waited just a moment and then stepped out after him, watching him go. 

~~~

Iris had spent every free moment since leaving Adamant reading over every document she could acquire from the old fortress’s abandoned libraries. Old treaties, records of griffon births and deaths, and a box containing nothing but ledgers detailing the purchases of the mess cook, who liked to add elfroot to _everything._

Part of her wanted to absolutely throttle Xander for forming an alliance with the Grey Wardens. The time and work it would take to draw up the contracts might very well cause her to go grey; she could only imagine what it would do to Josephine. The truth was that despite Brinn’s foray into the inner workings of Ferelden’s royalty, the Grey Wardens were never supposed to take sides. They were a neutral entity and now they were aligned with the Inquisition. Tongues would wag, rumors would spread, and Iris knew she would be one of the ones required to smooth the ruffled feathers. However, to banish the Wardens from Orlais would have been tantamount to disaster should another Blight arise in the already-turbulent chaos of the world. 

The light of her fire dimmed slightly and she glared up at it where it floated above her head. Despite the horrors she had experienced in the Fade, she was grateful for what it had done to her abilities. She could summon her fire at will and maintain it with nary a thought, freeing her hands for other activities. Yet it seemed the fire’s brightness hinged on her level of alertness.

She heard the sound of her tent flaps opening and looked up to see Cullen standing in the opening. She felt a flutter in her stomach and gave him a shy smile. His face had been the one she had sought out once Hawke and Emma had come through the rift. She had rushed to him and took his hands into her own as his forehead leaned down and pressed against hers. It was a quiet moment that neither of them had spoken of in the week since. 

His eyes flickered to the ball of flame hovering by her head; she couldn't help noticing the way the warm light made his amber eyes _glow_. The illuminated planes of his face only served to highlight his rugged jawline, that perfect nose, and _those cheekbones_. She felt heat creep across her cheeks and nose, turning her scarlet in his gaze. He grinned, and his scar twitched under the movement; the fire winked out so suddenly, she accidentally sent her papers and scrolls scattering in her shock. In her effort to save her papers, her elbow knocked her inkpot, spilling ink over a contract she’d been drafting. 

“Oh, fuck me!” she exclaimed, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. His eyes crinkled endearingly when he let out a rusty little chuckle. 

_Oh, Maker, why am I always such a mess when he’s around?_

“Com—Cullen,” she sputtered, slapping her hands to her side. 

He nodded to acknowledge her greeting before he started laughing again. “You have ink on your face.”

 _No!_ Iris swiped the back of her hand across her face in an attempt to clean herself, and sure enough, a black smudge appeared in the rough-spun fabric. “Did I get it?”

He only laughed harder; “Maker’s breath, Iris, I think you made it worse. Here.”

He reached into the pocket of his breeches, and it was then she noticed he wasn’t wearing his armor. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him in a linen shirt and leather breeches—he’d worn much less in their training sessions together—but in her tent, it was much more _intimate_. 

He pointed to her drinking goblet, which for _some_ reason, she hadn’t spilled; “Water?”

“Yes,” she answered. She had to crane her neck to look up at him; Maker, he was so _tall!_

“May I?” he asked. At her weak nod, he dipped the end of the handkerchief into the goblet and gently gripped her chin in his free hand. It took all her carefully-cultivated self-control not to rub against those callused hands. “Hold still.”

She’d never been stiller. She barely _breathed_. He was so close she could feel his uneven breath ghost across her lips and cheeks. He smelled like armor polish and cedar and leather and something very distinctly him… she leaned towards that smell like a daisy towards the sun as his _oh_ so careful fingers dabbed at the little streak of ink. All too soon, he pulled away from her. His fingers lingered on the curve of her jaw. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said softly, almost sheepishly. “Was it… important?”

“I can try again,” Iris replied, sweeping her hands at the pile of crumpled papers. “I wasn’t making much progress anyway.”

He grinned, placing a hand on her shoulder, staring pointedly at her left side; “Does it hurt?”

“Not as badly as earlier,” she answered, gently rotating her shoulder. The bandages running over her shoulder and upper arm made it stiff, but not unbearable. “It was worse before I took the tonic they shoved at me this morning.”

“I don’t know what’s in it, but it tastes awful,” he quipped, laughing softly before clearing his throat. “I think you need a break. Come on; walk with me. It will help clear your head.”

“Maybe,” Iris muttered, trying to conceal her flush by staring at her ink-stained fingers. “My hands will thank me for the respite, I think.”

He offered his arm with a grin; “My lady?”

_He needs to stop that. Maybe. After a few minutes more of it._

He led her out of the camp, though not so far away the low buzz of voices didn’t still reach her. The sun was just starting to set, burnishing his hair golden in the low light. She found she couldn’t take her eyes off of it—to the point he was actually saying something to her, and she hadn’t heard a word.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was… distracted.”

Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended. As a matter of fact, he laughed that precious, shy laugh of his, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand; “I’m sorry. I was just saying I wanted to thank you.”

 _Oh._ “For?”

“You’ve been there for me, Iris,” he said, staring right into her eyes. Certainly, he could hear her rabbit-fast heartbeat crash against her ribcage and was just too polite to say anything. “You’ve seen me at my worst as I… recovered. And you’ve been discreet. For that, I will be eternally grateful.”

“Well,” she replied, biting her lip. “I think what you’re doing is admirable. Not a lot of men have the courage to do what you’re doing.”

“I would less call it courage and more stubbornness, but—”

“Stop,” Iris chastised gently, stopping short and splaying her hand across his chest. She felt a bit gratified when his breath hitched and his heartbeat sped under her touch. “Why do you do that? Why do you act as though you don’t deserve all the credit in the world for the things you do? Why do you make yourself seem less than you are?” 

He shrugged, though he didn’t break eye contact; “Probably for the same reasons as you.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but when she thought on it, it snapped shut with a click; he wasn’t exactly _wrong_. She thought back to the times when she’d questioned her abilities, or insisted she wasn’t worthy or deserving, and laughed; “We certainly make quite the self-deprecating pair, don’t we? Two people put in charge; we have absolutely no idea what we’re doing but everyone insists we’re doing a fine job. The world’s a funny place.”

His hand had shifted, gripping her uninjured arm gently, but firmly. The heat of his hand was almost _unbearable_ at the same time she long to lean into it—for it to press against every inch of her body. 

“Cullen?”

“The world is a funny place,” he said, though the nonchalance of his words was belied by the intensity of his voice, like he was desperately trying to communicate something he couldn’t put into words. “One moment, I know a girl who is a good friend; in the next, she’s taken from me, and she _changes_.”

“What are you—?”

“Iris, when you fell into that rift, part of me fell with you. I have _so_ many regrets in my life. Things I can’t change haunt me...and for one heart-stopping second, I feared I had to add _you_ to that list!” His hand had migrated up to the side of her face, and he was stooping to look her in the eye. He was _so close_ , she could see the starburst of gold in his eyes. 

“But… I came back, didn’t I?”

He made a soft sound under his breath that lanced through her heart, igniting something that had _nothing_ to do with her magic inside of her; “Yes. I am _so_ lucky that you did; I feel as if I’ve been given a gift with your return, and I don’t intend to waste it. I don’t want you to be one of my many regrets, Iris. I couldn’t live with myself if—”

She didn’t let him finish. She didn’t know if it was a distant echo of Alyx’s advice finally taking hold, or if his proximity made her drunk on him, but one moment he seemed to be _confessing_ , and the next, her hands were fisted in his collar. She surged up to meet his lips, pressing her mouth against his. She expected them to be hard and unyielding, but much to her surprise (and delight) they were quite the opposite. 

Also to her delight, they were _skillful_ , as he gently angled his head _just so_ to slide his lips against the seam of her mouth. Their warmth was near overwhelming—even for her—and the rough stubble was such a delicious counterpoint. She felt effervescent. Impossibly light. Like she was on a cloud. Just as he started to pull away from her by degrees, she made a noise of protest under her breath, chasing his lips to continue the kiss.

“Iris,” he chastised playfully. “Iris, I have to _breathe_.”

“It’s overrated,” she teased. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Iris?” she heard Xander call. _Too close_. She and Cullen separated like they’d been shocked just as he rounded the corner. “There you are; I was looking for you. Am I… did I interrupt something?”

“No!” they exclaimed simultaneously, which of course told Xander everything he needed to know about how much he _interrupted._

“I see,” he replied with an arched brow. Something in his eyes shuttered, and she was sure she was going to see ice creep up Cullen’s boots from the frosty glower. 

_Oh. He knows._

She let Xander lead her back to the camp, chancing a glance over her shoulder. Judging by the look on Cullen’s face—an intoxicating combination of mirth and desire—they would finish what she started _later._


	34. Chapter 34

He’d been optimistic—maybe Josephine and Leliana would let him sleep in his own bed for a few hours before demanding his attention. Maybe Iris could debrief them—that’s what she was for. Maybe he could spend a few hours chatting in front of a roaring fire over wine and cheese and fruit with his new… well, lover was the wrong word. He’d _kissed_ Dorian, and a first kiss did not a lover make. But Andraste preserve him, Dorian was a good kisser. He didn’t count their kiss in the Hinterlands after Dorian had met his father. That had been done out of desperation—a need for contact over anything else. In his place, Xander thought he would have done the same. 

To say he hadn’t lusted after Dorian _after_ the kiss, though… that was a whole other story. He became acutely aware of the other man; everything about him was like catnip to him. Xander had never taken the time to notice the long, slim features; the regal nose and noble brow; the slender, delicate curve of his jaw. Dorian was… there was no other word for it. He was _beautiful_. And the beautiful bastard wanted _Xander?_ The mere thought was near too much to bear. 

_He wants me! Of all people!_

“What are you thinking about?” Dorian asked. His voice was soft and shy, cutting through Xander’s train of thought. 

“Oh, just how much I adore you,” Xander teased. “And how much I look forward to a real bed in Skyhold.”

“And how much you want to ravish me on silks and sheets, I’m sure,” Dorian retorted. 

“Oh, as tempting as the offer is, I plan on collapsing into my mattress and not moving until the sun grows cold, thank you very much,” Xander sighed. He was wistful at the thought of his _bed_ —the one bit of customization in his austere chambers, with its piles of blankets and mounds of fluffy pillows. The mattress was Orlesian down, and was soft enough to be considered _sinful._

“Hear, hear,” the Commander sighed. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be on horseback for eight straight days.”

“My life isn’t half as glamorous as I would have others believe,” Xander said over the _distant_ blast of Skyhold’s horn. He put a dramatic hand to his ear, his voice going breathy and vaguely _Orlesian_. “But hark—do I hear the sound of salvation?”

“Maker’s breath, I’ve told them a dozen times to wait until visitors are closer,” Cullen snarled. 

“What I wouldn’t give for a marble bath,” Iris sighed. “Those dwarven ones—with the runes in the side.”

“Your sister has exquisite taste,” Dorian quipped. “I could go for one of those myself.”

“We’ll share,” Xander retorted. “After my nap.”

“I’ll call on you when the sun goes cold.”

Xander should have expected to be ambushed the moment he walked through the door of Skyhold. Josephine and Leliana waited in the throne room, handily blocking the path to his chambers. 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine lilted brightly… a little too brightly. “If we may have a moment.”

“Couldn’t wait until I had a bath and a nap, could you?” Xander quipped. “Alright, ladies, you have my attention. For the moment.”

“Will I be needed?” Iris asked, ready to drop her rucksack and drop into Envoy-mode. “I can change…”

“That won’t be necessary, Iris,” Josephine said. “But thank you. I just need to borrow the Lord Inquisitor for a moment.”

Dorian placed a gentle hand on the small of Xander’s back, his quiet smile a silent promise of _see you soon_. Xander couldn’t help his fond grin after the man—he was quite beautiful, even encrusted as he was with a week’s worth of road grime. Leliana followed his eyes knowingly, her perfectly groomed brow arching. She chose not to say anything, though Xander could sense a _conversation_ coming. 

“We apologize, Inquisitor,” Josephine pressed, clearly noticing he was distracted. “But there are a few matters which require some expediency.”

“Alright ladies,” Xander said. “Report.”

“We received your missive that Warden Anders and Warden Sigrun were on their way to Weisshaupt as we speak,” Leliana said. “As for the remainder of the Wardens, we have already been outlining a plan for them; they can engage with what remains of the demons and Red Templars, while staying clear of Venatori. They may still be vulnerable to possession, after all.”

“And Brinn?” Xander asked. “She disappeared after the battle, but I assumed where you and her were friends…”

“Brinn and Zevran are continuing their hunt for… whatever it is they quest for,” Leliana answered. 

“I’m surprised you, of all people, don’t know,” Xander jibed, poking Leliana in the ribs. He was sleep deprived and not thinking clearly. 

“I know what Lord Abernache had for breakfast three mornings ago and his exact opinion on it, along with the political ramifications of such knowledge,” Leliana intoned dramatically, her lips twitching like she wanted very badly to smirk. “But Zevran and Brinn are shockingly reticent; some things are hidden even to me.” 

“Color me shocked,” Xander returned. “But we should capitalize on the Grey Wardens’ alliance with us. They have great respect in other nations, and if word spreads of their support…”

“We may gain standing with nations that have suffered under the Blight,” Leliana finished. “Excellent idea, Inquisitor.”

“I will get on it right away,” Josephine said. “Now, I have something for you. Invitations to Celene’s masquerade in Halamshiral.”

“Peace talks,” Leliana supplied. “Set for the First of Firstfall.”

“So the Grand Duke has been talked down from the ledge,” Xander said. “And I take it she wants us to oversee it?”

“Not only that, but the plan to assassinate the Empress is still in play,” Leliana retorted. “We may have dealt a significant blow to Corypheus by stripping him of his Demon army, but he is far from done.”

“We will discuss this in further detail once… once everyone is up and about,” Xander sighed. 

“Yes, we received word of the Battlemaster’s condition,” Josephine said. “How is she?”

“There is no improvement,” Xander answered. “No change in her condition. There is nothing more the healers can do; Sebastian has taken vigil.”

If not for the gravity of the conversation, Xander would have been amused by the positively girlish look his Ambassador and his Spymaster shared. They kept blessedly silent on the affair, but it was clear they were aching with curiosity. 

“There are some other matters,” Leliana continued after clearing her throat. “Some of my agents have been gathering intelligence on Corypheus’s generals—Calpernia and Samson—although I would like the Commander to be here for those.”

“We would also like to review your reports from Adamant before we proceed any further on some missives we have received,” Josephine finished. “We apologize for stealing your time for brief conversations, but…”

“The invitation is a time sensitive issue, and you wanted it at the forefront of my mind for future plans,” Xander said. “I quite understand. If there is nothing else…”

“No, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “Please, get some rest. We are pleased you return safe and sound.”

Xander made his way out of Josephine’s office to the blessedly empty main hall. He had so much to do—prisoners to judge, paperwork to file, troops and requisitions to oversee… and yet all he wanted to do was curl up under his piles of blankets and sleep for an eternity. Maybe two. He could sleep in bedrolls and on camp beds just fine, but his big frame rarely lent well to comfort in such austere conditions; he looked forward to splaying out over his massive, Orlesian bed. 

He rather liked his rooms—they reminded him of the quarters of a beautiful boy he’d shared the most wonderful four nights with in Val Royeaux. Large, yet cozy, with overstuffed sofas; bookshelves filled to the brim with leather bound volumes; a private bathing chamber; a balcony that looked over all of Skyhold; and most importantly, his bed. If he wasn’t filthy, he would have bodily thrown himself into the meticulously-made sheets, but he didn’t want to soil the linens. 

Well, that and his unexpected visitor. 

“I like your quarters,” Dorian said as Xander came up the stairs. He didn’t even turn from his spot in the center of the room, still in his travelling leathers. 

“Do you now?” Xander asked, tossing his rucksack haphazardly into the corner. “Is that why you snuck into them without my permission?”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Dorian replied, whirling on him with a delightful smirk on his beautifully full lips. “I’m here for your very _famous_ private bath chamber; or is that spurious rumor?”

Xander chuckled, heading towards the door just to the right of his bed. He was sure at some point, this had been storage space of some kind, but with little use for it, he’d had it converted. The door was open a crack, and about two dozen candles cast the whole room with a golden glow. The bath was already filled with just-the-right-side-of-scalding water—just the way he liked it—and dosed generously with an unfamiliar scented oil. 

_Apples and caraway?_

“I see you’ve already confirmed the rumor for yourself,” Xander quipped. “So you’d like to claim my bath before I’ve even had a chance to use it? Be kind to me—I was ambushed, don’t you know.”

Dorian’s smile shifted, then, to something almost _sweet_ and shy; “I prepared that for you, actually. You’ve had a very trying week, and you deserved something you didn’t have to worry about.”

“So you did this for—”

“Now, now, no need to get syrupy,” Dorian interjected. “Now go have your luxurious soak before _I_ steal it for myself! Shoo!”

Xander grinned to himself, allowing himself to be lead into the chamber. He stripped his travelling leathers with careless haste, determined to get the filthy garments to the laundry as soon as possible. 

_Or possibly burn them_. 

It took several tries to be able to sink into the hot water, but as soon as he was submerged, he hissed with relief. Aches and pains he didn’t realize he had were soothed away, and stiffness he’d been carrying since they’d left _melted_ away. He felt as if he could sit there for hours until his water went cold, but he was considerate. He knew Dorian wanted it next, so he quickly scrubbed himself until he was pink. He worked the tangles out of his hair, working the special soap bar through the dark tresses until they were clean and soft. He went so far as to comb scented oil through the ends to make it pleasantly soft—a step he usually skipped, despite Emma swearing by it. His heart ran a bit cold at the thought of his cousin. She’d survived the trip to Skyhold, but the healers were baffled by their inability to _heal_ her. Xander tried his best not to think of it, but with every effort to _not_ think about it, his anxiety flared anew. 

He levered himself out of the bath with great effort; he toweled and dressed himself quickly, ruffling his hair to dislodge the last drops. He knew it was a mess by Dorian’s horrified expression. The man had stripped to his breeches, and Xander found it quite difficult to look him in the eye when that perfect, golden chest was staring him in the face. 

“No,” Dorian snapped. “Unacceptable. Come here.”

Xander had to admit, if he could spend the rest of his life with his back pressed against Dorian’s knees with the man’s hands running through his hair, he would. He would slip into this sweet domesticity, staring quietly into the hearth with Dorian braiding his hair with quick, careful fingers. He hissed, and let out his breath in a deep sigh when Dorian’s hands skimmed over the shaved parts of his head to settle those fingertips at his temples, working in smooth circles, easing away a headache he wasn’t even aware he had. He leaned into the touch, letting his eyes slide closed, and tilted his chin expectantly. 

“Aren’t you spoiled,” Dorian quipped, letting his hands glide over Xander’s jaw. His voice was dark with... _was it desire?_ Xander chose to believe that when he felt Dorian’s lips fit over his in a searing kiss. There was something inherently different about it in the privacy of his own bedchamber, because he reacted like he’d been shocked. 

His tongue immediately slipped past his lips, teasing at the seam of Dorian’s mouth. Dorian’s soft moan lanced through him; immediate, heated _want_ surged into his kiss. He grabbed Dorian’s soft hair at the base of his neck, angling his mouth the way he wanted despite the awkwardness of their position. He felt his hips lift instinctively when he _felt_ Dorian’s reaction against his knuckles. Xander pulled back by degrees, never letting their lips be more than a few breaths apart.

“Oh, you’re bad,” Dorian moaned. 

“Join me on the bed?” Xander returned with a purr, levering up to recapture Dorian’s mouth. 

“As tempting as that is,” Dorian sighed, pulling away with what seemed to be great effort. “I would rather like to bathe myself, and you’re exhausted. Get yourself comfortable in that big bed of yours, and if you’re still awake by the time I come out, we’ll talk.”

“Tease,” Xander quipped. “But you win. Go get clean.”

“Mmm, as you command,” Dorian replied. “You’re going to have to move your head, though.”

“You’re no fun.” Still, Xander leaned forward so Dorian could get off the sofa. He was rewarded with a perfect kiss on _that spot_ on the back of his neck. He waited until he heard the soft sounds of Dorian getting into the water before he trusted himself to turn towards the bed. 

Xander flung himself onto his mattress, not bothering with covers, determined to stay awake until Dorian came out of the bath. He thought of all the ways he could have—

He was asleep by the time his head hit the pillows.

~~~

_Wiggums—_

_I wish you hadn’t needed to leave. Princess still hasn’t improved; I know you said it was up to her at this point, but I can’t help thinking there must be something you could do, if only you were here. I know it’s stupid, but… shit, even if there weren’t a thing you could do for her, I still wish you were here._

_There hasn’t been any sign of G, either; more and more mages find their way here, and each time she isn’t among them… fuck, I don’t know. She isn’t here, and I just want… I wish I could take off and find her, track her down using the phylactery, but I can’t just leave now. You know I don’t give two shits about duty or honor or whatever reason people usually join this sort of thing, but this… how can I leave, after what I’ve seen?_

_Maker, look at us. Being all responsible and saving the world and shit. I kind of hate it._

_Other than my griping, though, there’s little to tell. Trying to track down some Tevinter nutjobs, but until Princess… until something changes, I’m gathering information from here. I hope your journey goes well. You had better come back to me in one piece, I swear._

_—Shocker_

_~~~_

Alyx leaned on the parapet, watching the road winding its way up to Skyhold. The wind softly ruffled her hair; even in the height of summer the breeze chilled her skin, but it was a welcome change from the frigid bite of winter. 

Ever since they’d arrived at Skyhold, small pockets of the mage rebellion that had been separate from the main contingent at Redcliffe had been slowly trickling in. Alyx had taken to haunting the battlements, scanning each group of new arrivals for sleek, dark hair and bronze skin. She was always disappointed, but still she could not help watching. _Maybe this time,_ she always told herself. 

Now, though… now she was up here as much for the solitude as the view of the road. At the best of times she found the interior of the fortress too confining, but now with the weight of worry and fear and too many eyes on her… She much preferred the ramparts. No company but the odd guard or messenger, and with the endless sky and the wind in her hair there was no mistake that she was free, at least.

If only she didn’t feel so fucking _useless._

She stared at her hands, wishing there were just a _scrap_ of healing talent in them. For all Anders’ lessons, the most she seemed to be able to do was to seal a lousy cut, or maybe fade a bruise. The sum total of her ability would be only a drop in the ocean when it came to Emma’s injuries. She wished yet again that Anders had been able to stay; if _anyone_ could figure out what was keeping Emma from healing, surely it would have been him. But he was gone, halfway to the Anderfels by now certainly. It was, as Anders had said, up to Emma now. Though with each day that went by, Alyx’s hope grew less. 

A distant speck of movement along the road drew Alyx out of her brooding. As the small group approached, the tiny flash of deep purple resolved itself into a flag bearing the familiar rearing horse of House Trevelyan. 

_Just lovely_ , Alyx thought as the horn blared to announce riders approaching the keep. She could only hope the Maker would smile on her and it _wouldn’t_ be her parents. She made her way reluctantly down the stairs to the courtyard; if she didn’t go, someone would only come up to fetch her. Easier this way, even if she’d rather be _anywhere_ else. 

She felt at least some measure of relief when the party rode through the gate and it was Uncle Leopold and the rest of Emma’s family. She had little use for any of her so-called family outside of Emma, Iris, and Xander, but she at least had good memories of Uncle Leopold. 

_“There you are, my little duck! I was hoping I’d find you; I have something for you.”_

_Uncle Leopold had one hand hidden behind his back, and she grinned._

_“I hope you don’t mind me giving it to you early; I just couldn’t wait for your party. Hard to believe you’re ten years old already!”_

_“I don’t mind, I promise!” she said, jumping up and down. Uncle Leopold gave the_ best _presents._

_“Okay, close your eyes,” Uncle Leopold said. She squeezed them shut, holding out her hands. Something big and soft was pressed into her hands—she squeezed and it gave slightly under her fingers. “Open your eyes, little duck.”_

_Her eyes flew open, and she gasped as they landed on the most magnificent toy she’d ever seen. It was a stuffed dragon, bright purple with iridescent scales and curved horns. “Wow…” she said, beaming as she continued to examine it, stroking a finger over one of its horns. “It’s amazing!”_

_“I’m so glad you like it, little duck. Go on and play, then; I daresay you’ll have to start getting ready for your party soon enough.”_

It had been one of her last _good_ memories, one of the last times she’d felt like a kid. But that was all _before._ She crossed her arms, staring impassively as her family dismounted from their horses. A younger man with long, blonde hair swept back into a messy twist—her cousin Erik, she assumed—had to help a _very_ pregnant woman down from her mount. _Helena?_ It had to be her, Alyx thought, though it was odd to think that the last time she’d seen her they’d both been in pigtails, sneaking into the kitchen to steal treats meant for Alyx’s ill-fated birthday party. Alyx was fascinated with her huge belly until the moment she saw something ( _Oh, Maker, that was a foot?)_ protrude outwards. Alyx chose to ignore _that_ for the time being. 

Erik was Emma’s twin, and Alyx could see the barely-concealed tension around his eyes as he reached for his mother’s hand—she hadn’t seen Emilie since she was a kid, but the only thing that had changed was the grey in her hair and the lines on her kind face. She was on Xander before her feet were fully on the ground. 

“Xander!” she exclaimed, practically in hysterics. “Where’s my baby, Xander? Where’s Emma?”

“Calm down, Aunt Emilie,” Xander replied quietly, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. “She’s in her chambers. I’ll have a guard lead you there.”

With that, Emilie was led away, trailed by an impossibly fluffy dog with a long face. An Ostwick Horse Herder, if she remembered correctly. Xander crossed to the two remaining men, who were conversing quietly. They were as impossibly tall and broad as Xander; and she recognized them both easily. Gerhardt—with his close cropped hair and battle scarred face—she remembered from Ostwick. He’d quickly risen through the Templar ranks (and, she remembered with a shudder, had been quite popular with the more starry-eyed apprentices) and last she checked, had been Knight Captain. She idly wondered how he’d survived. Not that it mattered; the man clearly didn’t give two shits about her. Alyx remembered all too well his impassive face as he’d stood by while they dragged her away, bound for the Gallows. The older man—her Uncle Leopold—stared at her with those ice blue eyes, so like her own. _Like Emma’s_. He clearly didn’t _quite_ recognize her. She stared back defiantly, waiting for realization to set in. 

“ _Jacqueline?_ ” Leopold asked with wide, incredulous eyes. “Little duck, is that you?”

Alyx bristled, ready to correct the man into next Tuesday, when Xander stepped in; “She goes by Alyx these days.”

“Ah. My apologies, then, Alyx,” Leopold corrected. 

Alyx nodded curtly. She wished he wouldn’t call her little duck. Like she was still a little girl in pigtails. Like nothing had fucking _changed._ Even if some part of her longed to trust him, she couldn’t change the fact that he’d forgotten her the second she was sent to the Circle, just like her parents had, just like everyone in her fucking _family_ had. 

“If you’ll excuse me, Inquisitor, I have matters to attend to,” she said, and strode away without waiting for a response. 

~~~

Xander sighed, trying to ignore Uncle Leopold’s face crumpling with genuine sadness; “Don’t fret, Uncle. Alyx has… dark memories from her past. She’ll come around. She did for me.”

“Yes, but you’re impossible not to adore, my boy,” Leopold replied, ruffling Xander’s hair. He chuckled indulgently—it was a bad habit Leopold had picked up when Xander was a boy and he’d just never stopped. “Gerhardt always told me she didn’t do well at the Circle.”

“I can’t believe you’re here already,” Xander said, changing the subject. “I only sent the letter when we left Adamant. How did you get here so fast?”

“Mother,” Erik answered, as if that explained everything. “How is Emma, anyway?”

“She hasn’t gotten worse, which I suppose is good news,” Xander answered. 

“Which means she hasn’t gotten better,” Gerhardt supplied. He gingerly held a crate in his arms, careful to keep it level. It was… _is it yipping?_

“Oh, I forgot,” Leopold said. “I brought a gift for the Inquisition—I heard Ferelden donated a contingent of Mabari troops, and we figured we would match that with a litter of our finest Horse Herders.”

When Uncle Leopold said litter, he meant _litter_. Eight _fluffy_ pups with long faces smiled up at him from the crate. And they were _young_ pups. They weren’t wardogs, but he remembered they were fiercely loyal, intelligent, and made excellent sentry dogs. The guards would be happy, assuming they didn’t imprint on anyone. 

Gerhardt hefted the crate to get a better grip; “I should probably take these to your Commander?”

“Oh, yes, Cullen is in the training ring,” Xander answered, indulging in petting the head of one of the quieter puppies. “I can show you—”

“Thanks, but I’m sure I can handle ‘follow the sounds of sword-fighting,” Gerhardt deadpanned. “See you.”

_Ah, Gerhardt. As taciturn as always._

“I’m going to check out your tavern,” Erik interjected with a forced grin. “Later!” 

“Erik!” Leopold chastised as the younger man hurried away. “Apologies, Xander. He’s had a bit of a time of it. He’s been positively frantic since we received your letter.”

“I can’t even imagine what it must be like,” Xander sighed. “But if I lost Iris—”

“Iris is here?” Helena interrupted. “Sorry, but I was feeling a bit like you forgot about me.”

“I could never forget about you,” Xander said, sweeping her into an awkward hug. “Maker, you’re _huge_.”

“Well spotted,” Helena replied dryly. 

“Why are you even travelling in your condition?” he pressed, rubbing a gentle hand over the swell of her belly. He was rewarded with a sharp kick into his palm. “And when can we expect the little bundle of joy?”

“Bundles,” she corrected. “Not for a little while now. And Father tried to feed me the same rot, and if I had to spend one more day on my estate with Ricon—bless his heart, but his mother-henning was driving me up the wall—while my baby sister was on her—”

Helena cut off suddenly with a choked sob. Xander drew her in for another hug; “Hey. It’s going to be alright. Emma’s a fighter—you know this.”

“Something tells me her penchant for fighting is what got her into this mess,” Helena grumbled, swiping at her traitorous tears. “Thrice damned sister of mine.”

“Can I get either of you anything?” Xander asked, desperately trying to change the subject. 

“I could use a bit of a rest,” Helena replied. “Maybe take a nap? Turns out, making a couple of people from scratch takes a bit out of you.”

“Glad to see you haven’t changed,” Xander chuckled. “I’ll show you to a room.”

“And then I’d like to walk the ramparts with you,” Leopold said. “If you have a mind. I’d like to inspect this keep of yours.”

“It would be my pleasure, Uncle.”

~~~

Alyx marched across the courtyard towards the tavern, a scowl plastered across her face to ward off anyone inclined to stand between her and her destination. Fucking _family._ She didn’t want to deal with any of them, just wanted a stiff drink and to be left the fuck alone. 

“Asaaranda!” Bull’s booming voice called from over near the training dummies. 

She halted, turning towards him; Bull was perhaps one of the only people she could bear to talk to right now. 

“Asaaranda, I need you to hit me with a stick. _Hard,_ ” Bull said, gesturing with a solid wooden pole about four feet long. 

Alyx cocked an eyebrow at him, but then shrugged once she gave it a moment’s thought. Her drink could wait; hitting Bull with an enormous stick sounded pretty cathartic, if she was being honest. “Alright, sure.”

Bull grinned, passing her the stick. She hefted it over her shoulder and swung it, letting it collide with Bull’s stomach with a resounding _thwack._ Bull grunted. 

“Oh, yeah. _Again.”_

She complied, swinging the stick harder this time. 

“Not gonna ask why?” Bull said, grunting again.

“Can’t say I’m not curious, but I wasn’t planning on it. I’m sure you have your reasons. Besides, it’s not every day someone comes up to you and says ‘hey, hit me with this big stick.’ I wasn’t about to pass that up,” Alyx said with a wry grin.

“Fair enough,” Bull said as she swung the stick at him again. “It’s a Qunari training exercise, to master your fear. Been a while since I needed it, but…”

Alyx nodded, understanding dawning. “Adamant?”

“Adamant,” Bull spat. 

“Maybe you can do me next,” Alyx muttered before hitting him with the stick again. 

“Damn demons!” _Thwack._ “Who’s stuck in the Fade, huh?” _Thwack_.

“That Nightmare wanted to tear you in half if it got out!” Alyx taunted. _Thwack._

“Not a chance! Piece of Fade piece of crap!” _Thwack._ “And who killed you?” _Thwack._ “That’s right! Iron _Fucking_ Bull! Oh yeah! Now come on, give me all you got!”

With a wicked grin, Alyx let the stick swing with all her might, sending Bull flying backwards onto his ass with a massive thud. 

“Good one,” he groaned as he pushed himself off the ground. 

“Didn’t know you liked it _that_ rough,” Alyx said. “Do I need to be worried for my little brother’s well-being?”

“Oh, Zane can handle himself,” Bull said with a leer.

“Okay, stopping you _right_ there; that is enough information,” Alyx said quickly. “I’m going to get a drink. Or five.”

“You good, Asaaranda?” Bull asked.

“Oh, I’m fantastic,” she deadpanned before spinning on her heel and resuming her walk towards the tavern. 

~~~

Alyx was _not_ hiding.

That no one else would have reason to climb to the top of this particular tower at this hour was purely coincidence. The view of the stars was excellent; that’s why she was up here, she told herself. The stone was cool against her back despite the warmth in her chest from the wine she’d drunk, and the heavens above her so vast she could almost understand the dwarves’ fear of falling into the sky.

It was a welcome change from the keep, which had suddenly become much too small. Fuck, she’d thought it confining _before_ , but now that every time she turned around there was another family member, it was completely unbearable. Though they were all careful to call her by her chosen name, they still expected her to be Jacqueline. Jacqueline, whoever she had been, was gone. Even the familiar warmth of the tavern had grown too much, its walls too close around her.

The creak of hinges announced someone climbing on the roof. She rolled onto her side, ready to tell them to get lost, but then she recognized the familiar silhouette of a long coat and tall boots. 

“Zane?”

“Hi, sister,” he said.

“How did you know I was up here?” she asked.

“Um… special pirate senses?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and despite the dark he seemed to _sense_ it, because he relented: “Okay, fine, Bull told me.”

Alyx didn’t bother asking how Bull had known; she’d long since accepted that he _always_ knew more than he let on. “When did you get here?” she asked.

“Just now.”

“Really? I didn’t hear the horn sound. How did you get past the guards?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he taunted. She rolled her eyes before she remembered that he wouldn’t be able to see. “I… I heard about Emma,” he said, voice low. “Has there been any improvement?”

“No,” she said, voice not quite as steady as she’d hoped it would be.

“Shit,” Zane sighed as he lowered himself onto his back beside her. Alyx let out a weak, humorless laugh.

“‘Shit’ just about covers it,” she muttered.

“Feel free to hit me over the head if I’m asking stupid questions, but you’re on top of this tower in the middle of the night because…?”

Alyx sighed, wanting to just ignore the question, but something prompted her not to. “The keep is too…” she trailed off, unsure how to explain it to someone who wouldn’t know what it was to be confined to the Circle. “I feel trapped. Plus I can’t deal with the family reunion right now.”

“Family reunion?” Zane asked.

“Uncle Leopold is here, and Aunt Emilie, and Helena and Erik and Gerhardt.”

“Oh. Maker’s Balls, I haven’t seen them since…” he trailed off, but she could finish the sentence easily enough.

“Yep,” she said simply. 

They lapsed into easy silence, staring up at the stars. 

“Hey, Zane?” she murmured after a while.

“Hm?”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

~~~ 

Alyx wound her way silently through the corridors. Even in summertime, her hiding spot on top of the tower eventually became too cold, so she snuck back inside. It was easier, at night anyway—quieter, not so many people crowding her. With any luck, she’d be able to slip in to check on Emma unnoticed. 

Emma’s door was cracked, the open sliver illuminated by the moonlight streaming in her window. Alyx peered inside. Emma looked so small like this, perfectly still and surrounded by overlarge pillows. Her chest still rose and fell more or less steadily, and Alyx let out a deep breath of her own. 

“Alyx.”

She froze, then clenched her jaw as she slowly turned around. Uncle Leopold was standing across the hallway from her, hands clasped behind his back. There was a softness in his eyes that she wouldn’t— _couldn’t—_ allow herself to read too much into. 

“Uncle,” she said stiffly. “I… I was just leaving.” She started back down the corridor towards her own room. 

“Alyx, wait!” Leopold said. “Please.”

She turned back towards him again, crossing her arms defensively. “What?” she spat.

“Please, Alyx, just hear me out,” he asked, raising one hand in a placating gesture. She huffed her assent, and he went on; “I will not ask you to trust me. I will not ask you to like me. You can avoid me for the rest of my life if you like; I will not stop you. But I want you to know that I will love you no matter what, and I will _always_ be here for you. No matter what you call yourself, you will always be my little duck. I am so sorry for what was done to you, and I am sorry I was not there when you needed me most.”

“Uncle….” Despite herself, Alyx could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and she tried her best to blink them away. 

“I cannot change the past, but I can promise to do better in the future. Now, if you’ll permit me,” he said almost hesitantly, “I have something I would like to give to you. Or give back to you, I suppose.” With that, he slowly brought his other hand around to his front. In it was clutched her stuffed dragon, looking only slightly more worn for all the years that had passed since last she’d seen it. Slowly she outstretched her hand and took it from him, running her fingers over its iridescent scales, its curved horns. 

It was that, of all the stupid things, that finally broke the dam she’d been carefully stuffing everything behind since Adamant. With a violent sob she threw herself towards Uncle Leopold, one hand still clutching her dragon as she wound her arms around his neck, hiding her face against his chest and crying uncontrollably. 

“I’m s-so _scared,”_ she gasped, breath hitching around ugly sobs. “What—what if she dies and the last th-thing we did was fight? I can’t—” 

“Shh.” Uncle Leopold ran a hand gently down her back, making calming little sounds. “It’s going to be alright. You know Emma is nothing if not stubborn.”

Alyx let out a small huff of breath that might have been laughter if not for the tears still streaming down her face. “It’s been such a long time, though, what if—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, little duck. For now, there is nothing we can do but wait and have faith. Emma will make her way back to us.”

“You know that waiting has never been my strong suit, uncle,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He chuckled softly. “I do seem to remember that,” he said. 

“How can you be so sure everything will be okay?” she asked, leaning back to look at him. 

“I have to be,” he said simply, “because the alternative is not something I can allow myself to consider.”

Alyx nodded slowly. That, at least, was something she could understand. 

“No matter what happens, Alyx, my little duck, I can promise that you will not have to face it alone,” he said, running a hand over her hair.

Something in her chest eased just slightly, though she was still frantic with worry and doubt. 

“Come in and sit with me?” Uncle Leopold asked, extending one hand towards Emma’s room. Alyx nodded and allowed herself to be led inside. Iris was there, curled on a sofa with her head cradled in Aunt Emilie’s lap. She gave Alyx a small smile as she came in, and Alyx nodded back at her and then let herself tucked into a comfortable chair by Emma’s bedside, a warm blanket draped over her lap and her dragon clutched in her arms. Emma remained too small, too perfectly still in her mountain of pillows, but the worry was not so all-encompassing, did not weigh so heavily on her shoulders. 

She did not have to bear this fear alone. 


	35. Chapter 35

_Moving meals into the main dining hall was probably for the best—how did we get so many people at this table?_

Since they’d come to Skyhold, when Xander wasn’t on the road, he took his meals in his chambers, or sometimes at the Rest if pressed. Since Uncle Leopold and his family had come, he’d been dragged into the public areas to eat with the group—with the family. He didn’t mind so much. Meals were certainly entertaining with Emma’s family there. Hawke had taken to interrogating Helena at every turn about something or other; the one time he’d caught a snippet of the conversation, it had been about Hawke’s and Helena’s breasts, and he knew in that moment he absolutely _did not_ want to know. With his wife otherwise occupied, Fenris spent as much time with Sebastian as he could, trying to offer comfort to the man. The Prince was despondent, and Fenris seemed to sense Sebastian’s need for company. 

Gerhardt and Cullen had taken a shine to one another—Xander had never seen his Commander so _animated_. The men seemed to have an infinite supply of inside jokes and half-finished ‘guess you had to be there’ stories that always ended in them near doubled over in laughter. Erik, when he wasn’t flirting with everything that moved, had latched onto Zane—the newest surprise visitor. It seemed _every_ Trevelyan child was under one roof for the first time in almost two full decades. 

“I can’t believe you’re a pirate!” Erik exclaimed over breakfast one morning—three days since their return from Adamant. “To be honest, I always wanted to be a pirate!”

“Erik,” Emilie chastised indulgently. 

“What?” Erik retorted. “Travelling the world; the open sea; riches and wenches—”

“Please don’t call them wenches at the breakfast table, dear,” Emilie sighed.

“Sorry, mother.”

“It’s alright,” Zane said. “It’s something I always wanted to do—me and my _cousin_ would play pirates all the time.”

“Your cousin?” Erik asked. “Wait… you look familiar.”

Xander had to smile, picking at his bacon. Alyx smirked at him from across the table. _Wait for it…_

“Oh!” Erik exclaimed, sudden realization taking over. “ _Jonathan!_ I mean—oh, I’m sorry, it’s just—”

Zane was laughing, near snorting into goblet; “No worries. The tattoo and the ruggedly handsome scruff certainly change my face a bit.”

“Well, we’re related, so I can hardly make comments on the ‘ruggedly handsome’ part,” Erik riposted, tossing a piece of toast at him. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

“It was _so_ much more fun watching you try to figure it out,” Zane said. 

“ _Boys_ ,” Leopold chuckled. “Am I going to have to separate you two?”

“Personally, I could go for a change of subject,” Gerhardt remarked. “Like, has anyone seen Iris? I would think she would be around at least for meals.”

“Iris tends to take hers in the library,” Xander noted. “She is hoping to find an academic solution to Emma’s condition. Not that she needed an excuse to spend more time in there; she devours literature. I’m surprised she has been seen out and about at all.”

Erik immediately sobered, suddenly finding his eggs _infinitely_ fascinating. “She didn’t seem the bookish type to me yesterday,” he groused quietly.

“Speak up Erik; mumbling is rude,” Emilie chastised.

“I think your son might be a bit sore after the thrashing his cousin gave him in the training yard yesterday,” Cullen chuckled. “She gave him quite the run for his money.”

“What Cullen is saying is she pelted me with that green shit she conjures until I finally called yield...twice.”

Helena didn’t bother to conceal her laughter, and Gerhardt snorted into his tea. Xander poked his little cousin in the ribs; “Veilfire. And yes, it’s her specialty, and _yes,_ she throws it at everyone.”

“It was _cheating_ ,” Erik countered. 

“Would you rather have had her use real fire?” Cullen pressed, feeding Birch, Emma’s fluffy Horse Herder, a strip of bacon with a fond pat on the head. The dog had adopted Cullen as his new favorite person when he found the Commander was more than willing to share his breakfast for a little affection. “Because I must say, I don’t think your eyebrows would have survived the ordeal.”

“Speaking from experience there, Commander?” Alyx asked with a smirk.

“To be fair, she never _actually_ threw the fireball at me,” Cullen said. “Only threatened.”

“So what you’re saying is it could have been _worse?_ ” Erik exclaimed incredulously. “I don’t believe you; that green shit _hurt!_ ” 

“Erik!” Emilie gripped her spoon a little tighter, and if Xander knew his aunt, he knew she was fighting the urge not to pelt her son with it. “If I have to remind you about your language one more time, I will put you over my knee right here in this dining hall; do not test me.”

“Test her,” Zane pleaded. “Just once. For me!” 

Xander opened his mouth to respond, but the festivities were interrupted by a squeal of delight. The table went silent for a full count of fifty before Iris burst in the door, looking as if she hadn’t slept in days; dark circles were smudged under her eyes, ink all over her fingers and smeared across her face, and a quill was stuck into the knot of tangled hair at the base of her skull. Despite that, her eyes were bright. 

“We did it!” she shouted. “I still don’t know how we did it, but we figured it out!”

“Young lady, must you shout?” Uncle Leopold teased. 

“What did you figure out, Iris?” Xander asked. “And who is ‘we?’”

“Emma! We know why she won’t wake up,” Iris exclaimed. “It’s complicated and I might need a chart to explain, but we can bring her back!”

There was a collective intake of breath around the table, ranging in reaction from disbelief to distrust to _hope_. There was a palpable hesitation—like everyone wanted to ask a question all at once, and no one wanted to be the first to break the silence. 

“Iris… sparrow,” Leopold said tentatively, his great blue eyes shining with tears. “Who is ‘we’, darling?”

“The other half would be myself Lord Trevelyan,” Solas intoned, walking calmly into the room, his appearance a stark contrast to Iris. “Young Iris approached me the other day asking for my assistance with reviving the Battlemaster. She suspected correctly that Emma has retreated deep within the Fade due to the severity of her injuries.”

“How do we get her out, then?” Emilie asked frantically. “Your name is Solas, right? How do we get my baby back?”

“I’m going in after her,” Iris stated, her head held high. “Solas will help put me into her dreams and I will bring her out.”

“I’m going with you,” Alyx said, standing abruptly.

“That would be inadvisable,” Solas stated gravely. “Given the nature of your last _interaction_ , we don’t know how she will react.”

Alyx’s eyes flashed with anger, and Xander was almost surprised Solas didn’t physically recoil from the glare she was giving him. “First of all, _fuck you,_ and second, _I did not ask for permission._ I’m going.”

“Alyx,” Iris said quietly. “It was my first suggestion as well. But after everything we’ve read and seeing all the facts, he is right. The last time you two spoke...it didn’t end well. That’s why I volunteered to do this. For you, I’m bringing her back so you two can forgive each other.”

“ _No._ Iris, please, I can’t… I can’t just do _nothing_ anymore!”

“A compromise then?” Solas interjected. “We begin the ritual with Iris; if after a certain time period has passed she has not come out...I will send you in to join her.”

Alyx’s jaw clenched, and she looked _very_ much like she wanted to argue but was cut off by a small cough from Cullen. “I find myself in agreement with the Chamberlain. This cannot be something anyone should be doing alone. I am sure I speak for many of us when I say the idea of Iris venturing into the Fade by herself seems incredibly dangerous.”

“I agree,” Xander said. 

“Am I allowed to speak for myself?” Iris asked angrily. “All of this talk of me needing to have more confidence, and yet when the time comes, you doubt me!” 

“Iris it’s not about that,” Xander retorted sharply, a little swell of anger twisting in his gut. “But this goes beyond us being overprotective; we’re just being realistic! I may have no idea what’s happening or how it works, but it sounds like this ritual could _kill_ you if we’re not cautious!”

“I am aware of the danger and how to…” Iris was cut off by the sound of a light pop within the air. Cole materialized at the head of the table where Xander had been seated.

“I will go with her,” he stated. “I know the Fade, I can hear things she won’t. I want to help, I’ll keep her safe.”

A muscle in Cullen’s jaw twitched, and Alyx looked like she wanted to protest, but Xander drew himself up to full height, swinging out his arm and holding his hand out for silence. Surprisingly, it worked, and Xander vowed to log _that_ trick away for later; “I think that is agreeable. I am also amenable to Solas’s compromise, but I agree that perhaps Alyx going with Iris could be counterproductive. When would be the best time to conduct this ritual, Solas?”

“As soon as possible,” Solas answered. “Given Emma’s previous encounters in the Fade, she is extremely vulnerable to possession. We might have to consider the possibility she may have already succumbed; the longer we wait, the more likely the scenario.”

“Iris, have you eaten at all?” Cullen inquired with a worried tone.

“For that matter, when was the last time you slept?” Xander added.

“I had toast...yesterday...I think. It’s dark down there and time passes without me noticing. I will eat before this I promise,” Iris responded assuredly.

“Maker, does she remind you of anyone?” Hawke chuckled. 

“Give her a creepy mirror, and she’s a spitting image,” Varric said. “It’s a little bit eerie.”

“And adorable,” Hawke finished. 

“Can’t you do this after you get some sleep?” Xander asked. He wasn’t wild about her making these decisions when it was clear she hadn’t had a good night’s rest since Adamant.

“Xander, you’re my big brother and I love you to pieces,” Iris said sweetly. “But you are absolutely hopeless when it comes to logic. I’m going into the Fade, dream world, I will be asleep for the ritual.” 

Xander had about eighteen-dozen questions for her and how this would all work, but Aunt Emilie’s unshed tears and the soft hopeful sound coming out of Sebastian and made the decision for him; “Alright, Iris. We trust you. We’ll come with you to your chambers after breakfast and get this underway.”

He led Iris to the table, making room on the bench for her, while Alyx piled a plate high with bacon, fruit, crusty bread and quail eggs—Iris’s favorites. Iris tucked into her breakfast ravenously, making short work of the first plump strawberries of summer; “Apparently, I needed food. Badly.”

“You might also want a bath, but that’s up to you,” Xander responded.

Iris lifted her arm and gave her sleeve a slight sniff, her nose scrunching in distaste; “Maker’s Breath, how are you sitting next to me?” 

Alyx snorted. “On the bright side, at least most of us have finished eating,” she said with a grin that looked slightly forced. “But you’re pretty ripe—you should probably fix that.”

~~~

Iris would have liked to have gone straight to her chambers after breakfast and begin the ritual, but she could no longer ignore the repugnant state of her clothes and person. While she rather enjoyed a long languid soak in water she had personally heated to her preferred temperature, she would make do with a quick cleanse in tepid water. It would not do for her to fall asleep soaking away her aches and pains while her cousin lay dying.

Once she felt she had washed away the days’ worth of grime, she dried off, put on a light robe, and made her way to her chambers. She spotted Alyx standing outside her door, worrying at her fingernails with her teeth.

“Iris… when I was arguing earlier—you know that wasn’t because I don’t believe in you, right? Because I do. I know you can do this, I just… do you have any idea how useless I’ve felt these past few weeks? I can’t…”

Iris rested a hand on Alyx’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know, Alyx, you’re more like a sister to me than a cousin. I know you, and I know how hard this has all been for you. I wanted you in there with me. You would not believe the fight I had with Solas over it.” 

“Somehow, I can totally believe it,” Alyx said, and then sighed deeply. “Just bring her back for us, okay?” 

“I won’t let you down.”

She took Alyx’s hand and they walked into her chambers together. Solas had the room set up with candles and some sort of fragrant herbs burning in earthenware bowls. Cole sat nervously in the corner, Mr. Nuggles clutched in his hands. Xander stood next to him, stooped down and looking around the room as though he needed just one thing to focus on. Solas looked up and gestured to the bed; her pillows had been laid out and the blankets pulled down.

“I will monitor you from here,” Solas said smoothly. “I have located her in the Fade; she is alone.”

Iris nodded, pulling her lip between her teeth. Alyx made a huff of displeasure; “I still don’t like this.”

“Again, we don’t know how Emma might react should you join Iris in the Fade,” Solas said with the air of a put-upon governess.

Alyx flashed a glare at Solas. “If the candle goes down three marks, I’m coming in after you,” she said to Iris. “No questions asked; Princess will just have to get over it.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Iris replied. She turned to Cole with a soft smile. “You ready?”

“No,” he answered honestly. He gazed at the wall, knowing full well Emma slept just on the other side, her mother and Sebastian frantically keeping vigil. “I don’t like the Fade. But I’ll go for her. I’ll go for you. I want to help.”

“I know, Cole,” Iris soothed. She turned to Solas. “Are you ready?”

“Whenever you are,” Solas responded, indicating the bed with a jerk of his chin. “You should get comfortable; breathe normally, and the ritual will take its effect.”

“Iris,” Xander finally spoke up. “Be careful all right?” Iris smiled and gave him a small nod.

Cole settled onto the floor, despite Iris’s insistence she would share the bed with him. He didn’t explain why, but something told her the idea of a bed made him uncomfortable. Iris settled against her fluffy pillows, sighing softly when she felt warm hands against her hair. It took very little time before the pull of sleep yanked her under. 

~~~

Birch made a whimpering noise as he nosed at Emma’s hands again. Sebastian nearly jumped out of his chair at the soft sound; he was so _exhausted._ Every night, he’d been banished to his bed, and every night he didn’t sleep. He lay awake, his mind twisting and turning over the worst case scenarios; his ears strained for the sounds of Emilie’s distraught wails, but they never came. The silence of the keep almost made it worse. And when he would return to Emma’s side in the morning, there was—once again—no change. Well, not _no_ change. 

Two weeks in convalescence was deteriorating her body more quickly than her injuries ever could. Her face was starting to hollow in the cheeks; her complexion was becoming waxy and wan. It was hard to watch, and yet he held on to hope. He clung to the fervent wish that whatever Alyx and Iris were doing in the room next door, it would bring her back to him. 

“You have to relax, Sebastian,” a soft voice said. Sebastian nearly jumped again—he’d forgotten Emilie was in the room with him. 

“How are you so calm?” he asked, raking his hands through his hair. “We don’t even know if their plan is going to _work_.”

“I have to remain calm,” Emilie replied flatly, pushing her blonde curls out of her eyes. “If I let myself think about her _not_ coming back to me, I won’t—”

She cut off with a choked sob, pressing her delicate hand against her mouth. Emilie was obviously as tired as him—as wrung out as him—but something in her was strained so tight, she had to ignore it, lest it snap. Sebastian felt on that line in the moment, but Emilie looked like she’d been lingering on that precipice for days. It looked like she’d been there before. 

She must have read the quiet curiosity in his expression; “Emma was born sick, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked, taken aback by her bluntness. 

“I mean she arrived twenty minutes after her brother,” Emilie replied, her sea-blue eyes hardening. “I mean she was born, and she was so small and weak she didn’t even _cry_. My midwife put her to my breast and she didn’t even suckle. I thought my baby girl was going to _die_ , Sebastian, before I even knew her properly and it almost _killed me_. I have to maintain hope that she has one more miracle in her—that she’s strong for me again. I have to hope the Maker sees fit to keep my baby girl with me, and not take her to his side. _That’s_ why I’m so calm. Because I have to be!”

“My… my apologies, Lady Trevelyan,” Sebastian muttered. “That was unworthy of me.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” she said with a very Emma-like sigh. She narrowed her eyes and threw a small pillow at him. “And don’t call me Lady Trevelyan—that was my mother-in-law’s name. Maker, Sebastian, I’ve known you since you were a little boy. I diapered your bottom once, even. You’re practically family.”

Sebastian flushed to the tips of his ears; “That might make my affections for your daughter a bit awkward.”

“Nonsense,” Emilie riposted, waving her hand dismissively. “You were supposed be married at one point, after all.”

If Sebastian had been drinking something, he’d have spit it out in his shock; “We were _what now?_ ”

Emilie chuckled; “Of course you wouldn’t remember. You weren’t too thrilled with the prospect, if memory serves.”

“Emma and I were… we were betrothed?” Sebastian asked, his eyes widening. “How do I not remember this?”

“You were young,” Emilie replied. “Meghan and I negotiated your marriage into the Trevelyans when you were—oh, about seven or eight years old. Emma was still a babe in arms at the time.”

“I was to marry into _your_ family? My mother agreed to such terms?”

“More than that, they were her terms,” Emilie said. “She didn’t want you competing with your brother, and you and I both know you were never as suited to a quiet life of contemplation as your brother Connal was, Maker rest his soul. We would have been _more_ than happy to have you as a son, Sebastian—that you were of good blood and an influential family never mattered to us. But it was a mutually beneficial arrangement for us all.”

“Except Emma and I,” Sebastian interrupted. 

“Well, I’m sure that if you loathed and despised each other, then we would have had no choice but to separate you,” Emilie responded. “But it’s obvious to me that it likely wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“I was a brash, wild boy,” Sebastian countered. “I wouldn’t have been worthy of someone as beautiful as her.”

“I remember a boy seeking validation. I remember a little boy who wanted to get out from under the shadows of his brother—who wanted his mother to see him for the wonderful man he _could be_ if only she looked past his state of birth. But I don’t remember a bad boy; certainly not an _unworthy_ boy.”

Her words pulled at an impossibly old memory. 

_“Mother, I don’t want to marry a baby! I don’t want to marry anyone!”_

_“Sebastian Constantine Vael, if I hear one more complaint, it will be straight to bed without supper! Do not test me, young man. Lady Trevelyan is a dear friend; you wouldn’t want to prove yourself unworthy!”_

“So when her magic manifested—”

“Oh, your mother was livid, let me tell you,” Emilie laughed dryly. Her eyes still fondly gazed at her daughter’s face. “She didn’t know how strongly magic ran in Leopold’s blood.”

“But things are different now,” he supplied. “The Circles have fallen; it hasn’t been discussed whether Emma receives her title again or not.”

“I could give less than a single solitary _shit_ about whether or not my daughter is _legally_ a member of my family,” Emilie spat. “She will always— _always_ —be my little girl. But I suppose the question here is what you want.”

“I’m pretty certain I’m in love with her,” Sebastian laughed humorlessly. “The worst part is I was too hesitant—as always, I couldn’t make a decision and now I may have that decision taken from me. I wanted to see… I waited for her to make the first move. Maker, I feel as if I’ve loved her forever, and I’ve never said anything. I want Emma to be many things to me, but a _regret_ is not one of them.”

Emilie smiled softly; “If it’s what Emma wants, then I approve, Sebastian. You’re a beautiful man, and Emma would be lucky to have you. Of that I am certain.”

Sebastian gave Emilie a weak smile; “My vows are a poor currency; but I do swear that, as long as your daughter will have me, I will do _everything_ in my power to make her safe, happy, and healthy. But I fear I am not worthy of her. I spent a wasted childhood doing what I wanted, when I wanted it, and when things weren’t going my way, I turned from them. Every path the Maker has set me on, I turned away. I’m not proud of that.”

“So,” Emilie pressed softly. “You think you’ll turn away from Emma?”

Sebastian felt like her words had reached out and slapped him; “Never! She… I couldn’t even… no!”

She smiled softly; “Then that’s enough. You’re overthinking this, Sebastian.”

“Am I?” he chuckled. 

“It’s a decidedly Vael trait,” Emilie said. “All of this is moot until the girls return from the Fade. All that’s left for us to do is to wait.”

“I would like to submit my distaste for waiting,” Sebastian groused, settling his elbows onto his knees.”

“Noted,” Emilie replied dryly. “And I agree. But it’s all we can do.”

So he settled in, prepared to wait. He gazed at her still face, resisting the urge to gather her into his arms. 

_Iris… bring her back to me. Please._

~~~

Iris recognized the almost too-green fields of Ostwick. A massive, sprawling manor property spread out from a central point. It certainly wasn’t the tower, but… _where are we?_

“Scared.”

Cole stood next to her, drawn up tight and frightened. 

“Cole?”

“So scared. Scared to be alone. She screamed. So silent, screaming until my voice gives out. I can’t get out. I can’t get back. I can’t be alone. If I go back… I’ll never be alone again. So quiet. Why is it so quiet—”

Iris took his hand in hers and squeezed it tight. She wasn’t sure if the physical contact was more for his sake or hers, but it was comforting none the less.

“You’re holding my hand?” he asked, though he made no motion to break away.

“Yes, so we don’t lose each other.”

"No, you are doing it because you want to make me feel better,” he said with a matter of fact tone in his vice. “I think it works, I like it."

“Good,” she said with a smile. “We stick together ok? And if you get scared or you feel me getting scared, just squeeze.”

“Hiding in a closet, the scary templar is making the rounds again.”

“Cole, how about you stick to Emma’s thoughts and not mine. I thought she was going to be here… Solas said—”

“Hello.” 

Iris whirled towards the small voice, recoiling when she saw the small girl behind her. She recognized the girl; golden hair caught in braids and impossibly wide, blue eyes. She was so beautiful—she reminded Iris of the despair demon from the Fade. When Iris reeled back to strike at it, she felt Cole squeeze her hand again. 

“It’s _her_.”

“Who?”

“It’s Emma. We found her… or part of her. I can’t hear. She’s here, but also not here. She’s in two places…”

“That’s...Emma?”

“How did you know my name was Emma?” she asked brightly. She gasped, her eyes going wide. “Are you here to play? No one’s here…I was hoping you could play. I have dolls!” She presented a doll—one that looked strikingly like Alyx in full armor—and patted its hair; “This one’s my favorite. She’s a hero! I want to be just like her!”

Iris pursed her lips together and bit back a sob. Emma had been so young when her magic manifested. So much of her childhood was spent within a Circle, no wonder this was how she chose to be in dreams.

“I bet you’d make a wonderful hero,” Iris said with a smile kneeling down to be at level with Emma. Cole remained standing behind her and she wondered if he was visible to just her. He seemed to be searching for something in his own mind so Iris returned her attention to her cousin. “Emma, can you tell me where we are?”

Emma giggled, high and bright; “Silly. This is my house!” She pointed to darkened, empty windows. “That’s my room, and Erik is next to me. He’s a baby, so he has to sleep near A-ma and Da. Gerhardt is a big boy, so he gets to sleep all the way over _there_. Helen’s there, but she doesn’t like to play with me no more.”

Iris recognized the names of her other cousins; Emma had been the only one to show magical ability. She looked to Cole and conveyed her thoughts to him silently.

_All right, how do I get this Emma to be the real Emma?_

“She is the real Emma.”

_Ok yes she is the real Emma. I mean how do I get this Emma to be the Emma she is in the real world?_

“Show her she isn’t alone. Fighting with them right before battle, why did I say those things? They aren’t true—I was wrong. I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it. I was wrong. I love them, they are my family. They hate me, hate what I am, hate what I chose to become.”

“What are you looking at?” Emma asked, her happy, open face belying the dark thoughts Cole passed on to her. “Do you have invisible friends too?”

“You hear the whispers when you sleep at night, don’t you?” Iris asked. If this was Emma just as her magic was beginning to manifest then she would hear the whispers of the Fade in her dreams. A child would think of them as invisible friends. If she could get Emma to at least see herself as a mage, perhaps she could get Emma to see herself as an adult.

Emma looked remarkably uncomfortable, whipping her head around nervously; “Um… I did. I think. I can’t remember. I don’t anymore. I’m by myself… but if you want to stay, A-ma will have cookies made! And Da will read to us!”

“You know I can hear the whispers when I go to sleep. It’s something only very special people get to hear.”

The cookies briefly forgotten, Emma canted her head in askance; “Special? You’re special? Does that mean _I’m_ special, too!?”

“Yes, you are very special. Want to see what makes me special?”

Emma nodded enthusiastically, her doll in the grass and all but forgotten. Iris held her hand open and produced the tiniest of flames in her palm. The Fade gave her unlimited access to her magic and she made the flame change shape and transform into a tiny version of herself. Fire Iris danced about the palm of her hand in a gentle sway.

Emma squealed with delight; “That’s… wow! I can’t do that! I mean… you said, but…” The little girl cut off suddenly, her eyes growing very far away. Something shifted in her features, and Emma’s hands grew cold—not in a way that indicated fear or panic, but the distinct, sharp feel of ice magic. Unfortunately, as quickly as it came, the moment was gone. “That’s amazing!”

“I bet if you tried really hard you could put the flames out.”

“A-ma and Elaine say I shouldn’t play with fire. They said it will hurt me… but… you think I can put it out? How?”

“Hold your hand above mine and think...snow.”

“I like snow!” Emma said brightly. “I like Satanalia and my birthday! And sleighs! And I can build a snowman—Gerhardt taught me—and Da says—” As the girl prattled on about her love of all things winter, snow began to swirl around the girl’s feet, falling from above her head despite the perfectly clear sky. Iris smiled looking up as snowflakes caught in her eyelids, she had forgotten just how beautiful a magically created snowfall could be. Her happiness was cut short by the sheer panic that was Emma’s face. “ _No!_ I can’t! I’m going to be alone again! I don’t want to! I can’t! No!” Emma recoiled, the gentle snowfall turning frigid. The sky darkened slightly, and her big blue eyes were suddenly too old for her young face.

“Emma! Take my hand Emma!”

Emma held her hands to her middle, curling around herself and recoiling from the brewing storm she had no idea was coming from inside of her. She wailed into the winds; “I don’t want to be alone! You can’t _make me go back!_ Please!”

“Alone, going to be alone if I leave here,” Cole yelled against the wind. Iris stared helplessly at her cousin and thought in that moment she had failed her, how was she supposed to convince a scared child to accept the life that was ahead of her. Then she remembered, the last gift she ever received from her brother the day she was taken away. Iris pushed forward bracing against the rough winds and wrapped her arms around Emma and pulled her in tight. 

“Emma, I love you. You never have to be alone again, I swear, I will always be there for you...”

There wasn’t a flash of light or some magical revelation. In one moment, Iris had her arms wrapped around a small girl; the next, a grown woman. Emma—the adult Emma—beamed at Iris as the snow turned gentle once more. She breathed deeply, as if calmed by its presence. 

“Iris? What are you doing here?” she asked. “Actually… where is here? I don’t remember travelling to Ostwick…”

“Don’t panic, but we’re in the Fade...again.”

“Huh,” she said flatly. “I haven’t dreamed about my parents’ place in a long time… where are our bodies? Still in Adamant?”

“Not much time, she’s split. Won’t stay here long, find out where the rest of her is,” Cole said in a panicked voice.

“Emma, you took a bad hit at Adamant. They’ve been working to heal you but something has been holding you back. I came here to pull you out. I need you to think hard and fast and tell me where the rest of you is so we can get out of here.”

“The rest of me?” Emma asked, incredulous. “I don’t…” Her face got a faraway quality, as if she was listening to something, or remembering something. She cringed, moving a bit slower, as if her physical pain translated to her Fade-self. She paled as she levered herself to her feet, suddenly terrified. She appeared...insubstantial around the edges.

“Emma wait no, hold on. Please hold on and tell me where to find you. I am coming for you, just tell me where to go!” 

“I can’t…” she whimpered, stumbling back a few paces. “I don’t deserve to go back! I can’t face them… I deserve… I deserve what I put them through. I can’t go back!” And she turned on her heel and ran, disappearing in a flash of light. Iris bit her lip before letting out an agonized yell.

“Even in the Fade she’s a self righteous snot!” Iris cried out angrily. “Of all the places and times for you to have an attack of conscience, it has to be here!” 

“I know where she is; you won't know it when you see it.”

“Can you take me there?”

“Yes, take my hand again.”

“Are you scared?”

“No, but you are, and I want to help.”

Iris would never get used to Cole’s particular mode of transport; her stomach felt like a fist had closed around it. They were no longer in the pleasant field in Ostwick, but a dark courtyard. Tevinter statues of prisoners and slaves loomed above them, and the dingy stones of a perfectly-squared building stood stark against the night sky. Iris looked around her, feeling a mixture of awe and shock all at once. The building conveyed a sense of imprisonment and of power, neither of which gave her any hope of finding and rescuing Emma easily. She was about to ask Cole where they were when she heard a loud curse behind her. She turned swiftly, ready to attack when she saw Alyx standing before her.

“Iris!” Alyx cried, but then seemed to take stock of their surroundings. Iris watched as all the color drained from Alyx’s face in the span of a second; her eyes went wide. “Fuck!” she said with a strangled yell. “Let me guess: we have to go in there.”

“This is the Gallows, isn’t it?” Iris asked gravely. She had heard the stories, knew of the horrors that had occurred. She never thought to set eyes on it in her life. Alyx nodded wordlessly and Iris reached out to take her hand. “How long after the mark burned out before you jumped in?”

“Oh, you know me, ‘patience’ is my middle name,” Alyx said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yes, and confidence is mine,” Iris responded with a sideways grin. “Well as much as I hate to remind you of your tenure here, you are the only one who knows this place. I found Emma in Ostwick when I first got here. She split herself in two, the first half was her as a child, just before coming into her magic. I got her to make it snow and then hugged her.” 

“Iris, I can’t… _I can’t go back in there,_ ” Alyx said, her voice smaller than Iris had ever heard it.

“Damn it! Why is it when I tell you and Emma that I can’t do something you both badger me into believing I can?” Iris snapped. “Yet here we are in the Fade and I am busting my ass trying to pull our cousin out and all she can tell me is that she can’t. This is the Fade, Alyx. We are mages. Nothing here can hurt us without our permission. Now, straighten up and show me that you are the woman I have looked up to my entire life.”

Alyx nodded, still a little shaky, but there was resolve in her eyes, in her clenched jaw. “Okay. This way.” 

Alyx led the way through the main hall, down several staircases to a long hallway that looked more prison than Circle with its tight, identical doors. No windows—just a slot for food. The hallway extended _far_ beyond what the building should have been able to manage. It was just as eerily silent there is it was in Ostwick. Iris shivered and fought against the urge to flee. Alyx hadn’t spoken much of her time in the Gallows, and Iris had not pressed to learn more. Seeing it first hand, knowing this is the life her cousin had been forced into...Iris felt a twist of bitter anger in her gut. The Circles were meant to keep them safe, but this—this was a prison. She squeezed Alyx’s hand again, hoping the small gesture would keep both of them calm enough to face whatever came next.

A small beam of light shone out from a door at the end of the hall and they slowly approached the open doorway. Emma was sitting on a narrow cot, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore her hair in a simple, conservative knot at the back of her head; she was swathed in the heavy, shapeless robes Iris assumed the Enchanters of the Gallows wore. She stared at the stone wall with unseeing eyes, like she was prepared to do just that forever. 

“Emma?” Iris said her name as a question, not entirely sure who sat before her. Gone was the vibrant woman who commanded forces on the field of battle, the bright eyes and smile that led her in a drunken song at the tavern. This was not the Emma she knew.

“Iris? What… what are you doing here?”

“Oh you know just passing through, Brother Genitivi lists the Gallows as _the_ place to visit when you’re in Kirkwall,” Iris replied with a sardonic smile, hoping humor might break whatever hold the Fade had on Emma and her conscience. 

Emma quirked her eyebrows; “You know that’s not what I meant. Did you come for a visit? Or… did the Templars get you, too?”

“Emma, do you know where you are right now?”

“The Gallows,” Emma replied. “I figured you of all people… or Alyx, at least…”

“This is the Fade,” Iris stated calmly and carefully. “It’s not real. The Gallows doesn’t hold mages anymore. There are no Circles anymore, remember? We’re free mages now.”

Emma’s face screwed up in concentration; “I vaguely remember that… I think. But I think I’m going to stay here. Thank you for coming, though.”

“Thank you for…” Iris repeated back incredulously. “Do you have any idea what I have been through to get here? To get to you? Emma this is the Fade! You’re not supposed to stay here.”

“But…” Emma canted her head in askance. “I don’t… I don’t want to leave.”

“You cannot be serious...we’re in the Gallows! Of all the places in the Fade to convalesce, you decide to come here? And you want to stay?” 

“Yes,” she said evenly. “This is where I belong. I’m not worth the trouble.”

“Emma you don’t belong here; no one does,” Iris insisted.

“I deserve to be here.” 

Whatever trance Alyx had been in, she visibly snapped out of it. “What the _fuck,_ Emma? How _dare_ you say that!” she spat, eyes blazing with anger. “ _No one_ deserves this! I did not deserve this. _You_ sure as hell don’t deserve this. We are _leaving_ and going back to Skyhold, where you _do actually belong._ Do you hear me?” She glared at Emma, chest heaving. 

“But,” Emma replied, her eyes going wide. “I don’t want to. I shouldn’t… I can’t! I’m...I don’t want to cause any more pain.”

“Good, we’re in agreement then. You get up and come with us, and nobody gets hurt,” Alyx said.

“I can’t,” Emma pleaded, her eyes becoming a bit more lucid. “ _Please_ don’t make me go back!”

“Emma, I swear to the Maker if you make me stay in this _fucking_ place for one more second…” Alyx seethed. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Iris growled, surging forward and pulling Emma to her feet. “You can’t stay here! You are coming home with us!”

“ _She has to come on her own_ ,” Cole said quietly, his voice echoing as if in her head. “ _She won’t wake if you make her._ ”

“I can’t, Iris. Please, I can’t. I’ll just hurt you all again, now please lea—”

_CRACK!_

Iris put all the force she had in her and back handed Emma across the face. “Tell me to leave one more time and I will hit you on the other cheek, do not tempt me!”

“What the _fuck_ , Iris?” Emma snarled, seething rage building behind her eyes. “How _dare_ you?”

“That’s right get angry; I just hit you for being weak! What are you going to do about it?”

“Fuck _off_ ,” she growled, shoving on Iris’s shoulders. “Get out, and don’t fucking touch me!”

Iris lifted her hand to strike her again and was thrilled when Emma’s hand struck out and stopped her. That Templar training _really_ came through in her grip—Iris felt her wrist bones grind together, but she gritted her teeth through the pain; “Emma, you’re not alone.”

“I am though,” she whimpered. “I couldn’t save them… his voice is gone, and I couldn’t save Hawke and… oh, Maker, what have I done?”

“Snap out of it, Princess,” Alyx hissed. “You _did_ save Hawke. Please, Emma, can we get out of here?”

“Hawke’s alive?” Emma asked. “But… I saw her fall! I saw the nightmare…”

“You’ve been in the Fade for two weeks, Emma,” Iris pressed. “Hawke is alive and well, and would very much like to thank you for saving her life. Emma, your whole family is in Skyhold, waiting for you to wake up.”

“Mother? Father? Everyone? They’re… they’re in Skyhold? Why? What… Maker, Helena is _pregnant_ ; what is she doing in Skyhold?”

“Waiting for her sister to stop being an obstinate pain in the ass and wake up,” Iris said.

Emma pressed the heel of her palm against her brow, shaking her head like she was trying to dislodge spiderwebs. She took a look around her, her eyes clear and lucid, like she had no idea where she was, how she had gotten there, or why she was there in the first place. She held out the skirt of her robes, laughing humorlessly; “Maker, what in the world am I dressed as?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of those blighted things,” Alyx said, pulling a face. “Now can we _please_ get the _fuck_ out of here?” She looked very agitated, still breathing just a bit too quickly.

Emma grinned, pressing an affectionate kiss to her cousin’s cheek. The moment their skin made contact, a great rumble echoed through the Gallows, like it was… _shaking_? Emma turned towards the source of the sound, concern in her eyes. When she turned back, her face was twisted in manic glee; “Go. Get out. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

“You better be, Princess,” Alyx said, fixing her with an intense look. “Don’t have to tell me twice, though. Let’s go, Iris.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Emma repeated, her whole body glowing with brilliant, pale blue light. “I don’t want you getting caught in this. Trust me.”

Iris sprinted as hard as she could, her lungs burning. She could hear Alyx’s footsteps echoing behind her. The rumbling intensified as they reached Cole, who was patiently waiting at the end of the corridor. They grabbed his hands, noticing his soft smile. 

“‘I have to tear this place down on my own or I’ll be trapped here forever. I am ice and wind and snow; I am _powerful_ ,’” he said, his voice soft but triumphant. He turned to Iris. “She will be alright.”

When Iris looked back, Emma was swathed in that blinding light. Just as they were disappearing, a blizzard the likes of which she’d never seen burst forth, tearing down the walls, crystals of ice erupting from the floors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I know the schedule has been a bit wonky lately, but due to some personal issues and life in general, we're dropping down to a once-a-week schedule TEMPORARILY. Hopefully, it won't take too long, but we need some time to polish and refine stuff before we post. 
> 
> I realize this is by and large the absolute worst place to make you guys wait an entire week for.


	36. Chapter 36

_Ugh. Can’t be dead. Too much pain to be dead._

Her throat felt like sand, and her eyes were heavy and gritty as she peeled them open. The sunlight was torture, and two voices were frantically calling. Loudly. But they were muffled… she couldn’t understand them. Who were they? 

She quickly recognized the cloud of wheat-colored curls, and she instinctively reached for it; “A-ma?”

“Emma! My sweet girl,” her mother sobbed, grabbing her hands. “Sebastian! Sebastian, she’s awake!”

“I can see that,” Sebastian chuckled. The mattress shifted, and warm hands readjusted her head so she was sitting up, leaning against his chest. A cold nose nudged against her knuckles; she grinned when she felt the coarse, thick coat of her dog, Birch. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Water,” Emma answered, carefully accepting the glass that was handed to her. She tried not to flush at the endearment—she was so out of it, she barely registered it. “Alyx? Iris? Where are they? They were just…”

As if on cue, the door slammed open. Birch jumped onto the floor suddenly as if offended, crawling under the bed.

“ _Emma,”_ Alyx gasped, staring at her wide-eyed.

She could feel traitorous tears stinging the corner of her eyes, her fingers twitching as if to reach out for her, if she had the strength; “Alyx. Alyx, I am so sorry. I’m sorry for everything, I—”

Alyx leapt forward, landing on the bed and throwing both arms around Emma. 

“Alyx,” she groaned, feeling her strength coming back. Sebastian made a huff of pain at the added weight, but bless the man, he didn’t move. “Ow… Alyx, I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, shit,” Alyx said, scrambling backward and finally sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Mm-okay,” Emma replied, trying to sit on her own. It didn’t work. Instead she slumped back against Sebastian’s chest. “Just surprised…why, were you _worried?_ ” She quirked a brow the best she could, despite the tight pain in the side of her face. 

“Oh, shut it, Princess,” Alyx said, scowling at her.

“Aw, you _do_ care,” she retorted, giggling lightly. She cut it off with a moan when she felt something shift inside her… it didn’t feel good. 

“Maybe we should leave her to recover,” Sebastian suggested, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. 

“No,” Emma whimpered. “Don’t… please don’t leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone, baby,” Emilie answered, brushing her hands across the back of Emma’s. “Not ever. But your father and brothers will want to know… I'll be right back.”

Sebastian laid her out gently on her pillows, following Emilie out the door. Emma, Alyx and Iris were alone, and Emma took the opportunity; “I mean it, you know. I shouldn’t have said… the things I… I was _awful_. I was every awful stereotype that are assigned to Templars for good reasons, and I was unreasonable, and—”

“Oh, just shut up, would you?” Alyx said. “I… I’m sorry I kept it from you. I can’t exactly say I wouldn’t do it again, but… I’m sorry. You know I didn’t _like_ keeping things from you, right?”

Emma nodded slowly, her arms twitching again; “I _have_ to learn to trust you, Alyx. You... you’re more a sister to me than my actual sister. I’m sorry… but I love you. And I am so, so sorry.”

“You too, Princess,” Alyx said with a slightly watery smile. “And ok, _yes_ , I have been worried. You nearly fucking died on us, you bitch! I would punch you, you know, if it weren’t for the whole grievously wounded thing.”

“Aww,” Emma croaked, lifting her arm with great effort and resting her hand on Alyx’s. She grinned as widely as she could. “See? I knew you cared.”

Emma gave Alyx’s hand an experimental little tug, and bless the woman, but she gathered Emma into her arms. It was a much gentler embrace than earlier, but no less heartfelt. Emma held onto her cousin as tightly as she could, fighting the tears that threatened at the back of her throat. Another hand joined Alyx’s on her back, and a dip in the mattress heralded Iris’s presence. Emma sighed, holding tighter. 

“Thanks for bringing me back,” she whispered. 

“Sorry for you know...the smack,” Iris said sheepishly, biting her lip.

“Hey, I deserved it,” Emma answered.

“Damned right you did,” Alyx said. “Don’t you _dare_ do that to us again.” 

“Not an experience I want to repeat any time soon,” Emma replied. She heard a soft _whuff_ from under her bed and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She hissed when something pulled painfully. “Alright, why is Birch hiding under the bed?”

“He’s not the biggest fan of Alyx; won’t go within three feet of her if he can avoid it,” Iris chuckled.

Emma snorted under her breath, suppressing her laugh behind her hand; “Why? He’s usually so sweet.” Although she had a feeling she knew why.

“I might have accidentally shocked him once. It was an accident, and it was only once! He just has so much _fur_ , you know. Static,” Alyx said, looking rather upset.

“She pet him and he turned into a ball of floof!” Iris laughed heartily. 

“It’s not funny!” Alyx said, giving Iris a shove. 

Emma shook with silent laughter; “It’s a little funny. Birch has a _lot_ of fur… I’m imagining what? Three times the size? Four?” Her question was answered by an irritated _whuff_ from under the bed. The three girls locked eyes with one another and burst out laughing.

“Okay, okay, it’s a little funny,” Alyx said.

“You’re just mad that Birch likes Cullen and won’t come near you,” Iris teased.

“Cullen _cheated!_ ”

“Bacon?” Emma asked with a quirked brow.

“Oh yeah, though truth be told, I am pretty sure your brother told him the secret,” Iris added with a smile. 

Emma would have to ask if it was Erik or Gerhardt later. _Maker, I wonder if they’re still here?_

A sharp knock on the door interrupted their fun, and Xander pushed his way into the room, his face pale and haggard; “Oh, thank the Maker! I heard the giggling, and for some reason, I assumed the worst! Are you alright?”

Emma shrugged; “About as good as can be expected. Although I am already feeling stronger, if that makes sense.”

“With the amount of mana And—the healers poured into you, I would hope so!” Alyx retorted. Emma would have to interrogate her about the slip later.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Xander said with a grin. “Because—”

“ _Where is my baby!?”_

Xander giggled; “Someone wants to see you.”

He stepped aside, letting her family pour into the room. They really _were_ all there! She felt tears form in her eyes; “You guys! How… I mean, when?”

“Xander sent a missive as soon as you were injured,” her father answered, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners. He had new lines in his face, and his platinum hair was going gray around the temples. Birch heard his voice and poked his doggy nose out from under the bed. 

“I can’t believe you’re all here,” Emma said, trying to suppress the painful sob in her chest. 

“Of course we are, sweet thing,” her mother said, sinking to her bedside. She brought her daughter into a fierce embrace, and she smelled like everything that always reminded Emma of her home in Ostwick. “We were worried.”

Emma’s gaze fell on her siblings— _all three of them—_ and she felt her breath catch; “Gerhardt! You’re _alive!_ I didn’t see you at Therinfal and I assumed—”

“I’m sorry, little sister,” he said softly, moving to smooth out her hair. With her very tall brothers, her very pregnant sister, and her parents, it was getting a touch crowded. 

“We’ll leave you to it,” Xander said, placing a hand on Iris’s shoulder. “Come along, ladies. We have duties to attend to.”

“You will do _no such thing!_ ” her mother snapped, a playful wink removing the sting of the barb. “You are all family, and you belong here.”

Emma couldn’t help but notice the way Iris’s eyes lit up at the word family. She looked to her brother and smiled settling herself back down on the bed next to Emma, curling her hand over hers protectively. Surrounded by her family, people she’d _missed_ so dearly, she couldn’t have been happier. She couldn’t have felt safer. 

~~~

The healers were baffled—one moment, she was still as death with barely the strength to lift her water glass, the next she was as stir crazy as ever. Emma felt restless, and being banished alone to her room to rest and recover was getting on her nerves. She loved her mother, and she loved her dog, and Maker she loved her family, but she needed to get out of her room, damn it!

Cassandra and Cullen were Maker-sent _joys_ as they attempted to get her caught up on the goings on in Skyhold post Adamant. She felt awful all over again when she saw the casualty list; when Xander came to her and asked if she wanted to be present for Erimond’s judgement, it took all of her self-control to not insist she carry out his sentence herself. The man deserved _more_ than death. He deserved _worse_ than death, if that was possible. She would never bring it up, given how precarious her reconciliation with Iris and Alyx was, but if she was given the option, she knew the course of action she would take. 

One thing she loved doing was walking the battlements. The even, level flooring and the fresh air was a blessing, though despite her relatively rapid recovery, she still had some trouble. Oddly, Sebastian was there daily to walk with her, his arm ever present for support. He never seemed bothered that they went so slowly, and he was always ready with stories from Kirkwall and Starkhaven. She thought back to the conversation they had just before leaving for Adamant, where he gave her the necklace she still wore. 

_I’m not sure what I feel for you, Emma, but I want to find out. If you’ll let me._

Unfortunately, it seemed he _did_ find out, because his hesitance spoke louder than his words ever could. He kept her at a maddening distance, his arm on her gentlemanly, courtly, and _chaste_. She felt sick inside that she ever dreamed they could be… 

She shook herself, her fingers tightening on his arm. If he felt anything, he said nothing. He must have sensed her churlishness, because he stopped suddenly, his hand dropping to the center of her back. 

“Perhaps we should head back? You’re quiet today,” he said. He smiled at her, and the warmth in his gaze was near enough to make her weak in the knees. 

“I apologize, Sebastian,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. She had no idea what to think—he was familiar and almost affectionate, but his touch was so… so _hesitant._ There was no other word for it. It drove her near mad. She needed to talk to Alyx and Iris. They would know what to do. 

~~~

She looked so upset. He could understand. She didn’t see the tumultuous swirl of doubt in his heart; he was so thankful to see her recovering. He knew he was frustrating her with his chaste-friendship act, but he couldn’t move forward. Not until he was _sure_. Part of him wanted to just take her right there—to sweep her into his arms and shower her with affection. He wanted to make a map of her body; he wanted to kiss her from the delicate tattoo under her eyes all the way down to her strong legs. He wanted to press his lips against each freckle on her cheeks just to hear her giggle, and claim that divine mouth of hers and feel her lips against his. 

_Are they as plush and soft as they look?_

He shook off this train of thought—lust was not surety. He knew that much. Once he saw her safely back to her chambers, he chanced one more soft touch—he brushed her hair back from her face, tucking the errant locks behind her ears. He allowed his fingertips to linger on her jaw for a heartbeat longer than necessary. He clung to the feeling in his chest—the one that felt unbearably tight at the same time he felt impossibly light. 

He clung to that feeling and with great reluctance, he walked away from her. He had some thinking to do.

~~~

Emma vowed she would never again complain about being tired; she’d spent enough time in her Maker-damned bed for a lifetime, and reading reports and novels and stories only took her so far. She’d taken to crumpling pieces of scrap paper and lobbing them at her waste basket, grading herself on a point system. That lasted all of thirty seconds before it got boring again. 

A soft knock on the door preluded two heads poking into her room—Iris and Alyx, each bearing a tray. 

“Oh, thank the Maker you are here!” Emma cried, clasping her hands in mock prayer. “I was going insane without company! Please, come in!”

Emma scooted back, propping herself up on her pillows to make room for them. She was grateful for Alyx and Iris’s presence. Maker knew she needed the help. She needed the _distraction_. She needed the gossip. Anything to take her mind off the Prince of Starkhaven and the enigma he proved to be. Iris had tea for them, and Alyx had brought rum cakes (because of course she had) and they settled onto her bed. Emma sent Birch away, and he gave her an indignant huff before turning tail and heading outside. 

“So, read any good books lately?” Iris asked, eyeing the stack of papers on her bedside table. 

“Aw, Iris,” Emma giggled, drawing in a short gasp of pain when her cracked ribs protested. “Needless to say, since I’ve come to, I have read _every piece of paper in Skyhold_. Recovery is rather boring. What about you two? Any fun gossip to share? Please, I’m desperate!”

“Oh, I don’t know, _Iris,_ is there any fun gossip?” Alyx said, grinning widely.

“Oooh, there’s a story there,” Emma exclaimed, sipping her tea. “Is it about our illustrious _Commander_ , hm?”

“Our illustrious Commander isn’t the one who kissed Alyx on the battlements at Adamant, so no it couldn’t possibly be about him.”

“What?” Emma nearly dropped her teacup whirling on Alyx. “When? How? Tell me everything!” Alyx gave Iris a pointed glare, but Iris grinned and ignored it.

“Anders kissed Alyx pretty much as soon as the chaos at Adamant passed,” Iris said, eating a delicate piece of her rum cake. “It was adorable.”

“Oh come on!” Alyx protested, though her cheeks were tinged with a precious pink. “That wasn’t even—he was just glad I was alive, okay?” 

“Seems like a… dramatic move, all things considered,” Iris said. “I’m sure Xander was glad Hawke was alive; didn’t see him kiss her.”

“Oh come on, that’s different and you know it,” Alyx protested.

“So you’re… what, friends with Anders?” Emma asked, trying her level best not to sound accusatory. She’d heard the rumors—that he was the only reason she was alive—and she was trying her hardest to give the man a chance for the redemption he so clearly wanted.

“Yes,” Alyx said. “ _Friends_.”

“Friends who slept together,” Iris commented, pursing her lips together innocently and looking up towards the ceiling.

“What? _You traitor!”_ Alyx hissed. 

“ _Alyx!_ ” Emma gasped, ignoring the sharp shot of pain in her shoulder. “Alright, you have to tell me everything. I have been deprived for interesting conversation!”

“There isn’t even anything to tell! We were drunk. It happened.”

“Yes, but… it’s _Anders_ ,” Emma whispered conspiratorially. It was a poorly-kept secret among Knight Enchanters of the persuasion—the fantasy was _prevalent. “_ It’s hard not to be curious.”

“It _is_ Anders. Well spotted, Emma!” Alyx said, applauding sarcastically.

“What Emma is trying to say is, what’s it like being with someone who can do things with their fingers a non-mage can’t,” Iris intoned with a wry grin and raised eyebrows.

Emma flushed to her hairline; “ _Iris!_ Although, yes. I have heard... rumors.”

“Oh, there are _rumors,_ are there? Please do tell me these _rumors_ that have you so titillated,” Alyx said with a grin.

Emma slapped on a wry grin, waggling her eyebrows and wiggling her fingers; “The electricity trick?”

There was no missing the slightly dreamy expression that passed over Alyx’s features for a moment. “Ok, _that_ one is true,” she said.

“Ha! I knew it! I knew Varric didn’t make that one up!” Iris said excitedly trying not to jump up in triumph.

“Alright, sexy times are all well and good,” Emma said. “But tell me about _him_. What are his kisses like? What was the sex like? Is he good? Is he funny? Witty? Charming? An utter arsehole—in which case, how hard do I have to punch him?”

Alyx blushed. She actually _blushed._ “I’m sorry, when did this turn into an interrogation?” 

“Don’t worry, Emma,” Iris said, patting Emma’s leg. “Once you are mobile again, you and I will give Anders the once over and chat about how much we love our cousin, and how _deeply_ upset we’d be if something were to ever happen to break her poor heart.”

The feigned sweetness in Iris’s voice was near sugary. Emma had never been so proud.

“Ah, that sounds like fun,” Emma replied with a slightly manic glint in her eye. “And this isn’t an interrogation. This is just _girl talk_. You just _happen_ to be the subject, Alyx.”

“We’re not even _together._ You might remember Grier?” she asked, looking at Iris. “Love of my life? Still out there somewhere?”

Emma raised her eyebrows; “You’re not a bad person for being attracted to him, Alyx. I’m… I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way. But to be fair, it was more recent and forgive me for wanting the inside look at an infamous renegade.”

“Alright, fine,” Alyx relented with a sigh, and there was that oddly dreamy expression again. “What do you guys want to know?”

Emma pursed her lips, pushing the more pressing questions to the back of her mind for later; “What was kissing him like? How was he? There are so few good kissers in the world.”

“He’s good. And he does this _thing_ with his tongue—”

Iris squealed and nearly fell over backwards off the bed in a fit of giggles. Emma covered her face to conceal her excited, girlish titters. She peered out from between her fingers, and it was clear her cousin was going for ‘stand-offish and churlish’ but the dreamy look in her eyes was almost too much. 

“Oh, you have it bad,” Emma accused, nudging Alyx’s hip with her foot.

“What?! I told you, we’re _friends._ Friends who admittedly did sleep together. _Once.”_

_“_ Aww, nothing at Adamant?” Emma asked, genuinely crestfallen. “That’s too bad.”

“No, nothing happened at Adamant. Do I need to remind you about the Grier thing again? Anders and I slept together once, yes. It was a… lapse in judgment,” Alyx said.

“So him sneaking into your tent was a what? An additional lapse in judgement?”

“Iris! That was—nothing _happened._ I… I was having nightmares, okay?” Alyx muttered, looking away from them. 

Emma pressed her hand over her heart; “Oh, Maker, that’s almost too sweet. You’ve rotted my teeth, Alyx. You mean to tell me he snuck into your tent to platonically snuggle nightmares away?”

“You’re just taking advantage of the fact that I can’t punch you right now,” Alyx said with a halfhearted glare. 

“I _really_ am,” Emma admitted with a cat-like grin. “He’s so tall—snuggling him must be just the _best_ , no? _Please_ , Alyx. Need I remind you I am deprived? Of both gossip and men to snuggle.”

“Okay, _yes._ It’s wonderful. You happy?”

“Sort of,” Emma retorted. “It’s light on the details, but I suppose it will do. You’re not just friends, by the way. People who are ‘just friends’ don’t get this dreamy smile on their face when they talk about cuddling one another. At least in my experience.” 

And there was the blushing again. “Okay, how about a new subject?” Alyx suggested.

Emma couldn’t tell if Alyx was horrifically uncomfortable or bursting with a secret she was dying to tell. She couldn’t help the genuine grin that nearly hurt her cheeks. She’d been such an idiot—and she was so happy for her cousin. Only when Alyx’s eyes flickered to Emma’s fingers toying with her snowdrop necklace did she notice that she’d been worrying over it.

“Alright, then, what do you suggest?” Emma asked, tucking the pendant back in her shirt.

“Oh, I think I’d suggest ‘Emma has new jewelry that she was just fondling lovingly,’ don’t you think, Iris?”

“Hmmm what?” Iris said as though pulled from thought, her own fingers wrapped around the collection of trinkets she had hanging from her neck. “Oh you mean the necklace Sebastian gave her right before Adamant?”

“Hm, yes, that’s the one,” Alyx said.

“Did he tell you about it?” Emma asked, placing her hand protectively over her heart.

“No, just you stopped wearing the other one and I put two and two together. You two haven’t exactly hidden your affections.” 

Emma blushed a deep red, averting her eyes and intentionally pulling her hand away from the necklace; “Something tells me I threw cold water on those affections after… well, it doesn’t matter any more. Let’s talk about the utterly baffling collection around Iris’s neck. That certainly seems interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Alyx said quickly. “It’s your turn to talk.”

Emma sighed, raking her hand through her hair; “I suppose I deserve this. Before Adamant… before the siege, I wasn’t really talking to anyone. He gave me this, we said we wanted to get to know each other, and then… well, you and I fought. And I avoided him.”

“That wasn’t your fault though. The despair demon, it was influencing you. Have you told anyone about that at all? It would explain everything,” Iris said, resting her hand on Emma’s knee reassuringly.

“You’re right,” Emma admitted. “But he’s been… very distant. He sees me every day, but then he keeps this _very_ respectful distance, keeps conversation casual… It’s maddening! He helps me walk the battlements, and it’s like I’m walking next to my brother. I just wish he’d just _tell_ me he doesn’t care for me; then at least I can stop all this second-guessing myself!”

So there it was. The conversation she’d been trying to avoid. The realization she had never wanted to come to tasted bitter on her tongue, and she _hated_ the thought. She fought the swell of disappointment in her chest. They sat in silence for a few moments, at a loss for words as Emma tried to collect herself. She swiped at the tears at the corners of her eyes, putting on a veneer of faux-cheerfulness; “But enough about me! Alyx alluded to _something_ with Iris and Cullen earlier. I need to know more.”

“This is very true. Your turn, Iris,” Alyx agreed with a grin, poorly concealing a lingering glance at Emma. “Care to tell us about the definitely _not_ platonic kiss you shared with the Commander at camp?”

Emma gasped, her own angst briefly forgotten; “They _kissed!_ Iris, seriously! Tell me more!”

“ _I_ kissed _him,_ I’ll have you know,” Iris stated matter of factly with a hint of pride.

Alyx grinned, sniffing dramatically and pretending to wipe tears from her eyes. “My little baby, all grown up and kissing boys,” she said.

“Cullen is hardly a boy,” Iris protested with a waggle of her eyebrows. “He is very much a _man_.”

“Yes,” Emma replied with a waggle of her eyebrows. “He is a _man._ ”

“Yeah Iris, do tell us about his _manhood,”_ Alyx added suggestively.

“Maker’s Breath, we haven’t gone that far!”

“Aw, why not?” Alyx pouted. 

“Well...we’ve been rather distracted by...and...oh fine!” Iris cried out, throwing her hands in the air. “We have barely spoken since! We kissed, he smiled, it was wonderful… and I have been avoiding him.”

“Andraste preserve us, girls, but I think we _are_ family,” Emma quipped. “Why have you been avoiding him?”

“Because of what I saw in the Fade,” Iris murmured, twisting her fingers together. She refused to meet their eyes. _None of them_ really talked about the Fade. “My nightmare...I’m afraid of what it means...of what I became as a result of it.”

“You haven’t spoken about it,” Emma said. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but… what does it have to do with Cullen?”

“You and Alyx, you said you dreamt of drowning and being closed in. Pretty standard fears for anyone. I didn’t dream of fears, I saw _myself_ in my nightmare. I saw what I had the potential to become, and it frightened me!” Iris exclaimed. “How am I supposed to pursue a relationship with anyone, knowing what I have the potential to become if left unchecked?”

“Iris,” Emma protested gently, laying her hand over Iris’s. “You are the sweetest girl I know; that you fear it shows you will never become it. What we all saw—it wasn’t real.”

“Thank the Maker,” Alyx muttered with a nervous laugh.

“Indeed,” Emma said darkly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that you like him; like it or not, the world is going to shit around us, and we need to find whatever happiness we can. I think you should talk to him—if nothing else for his own well-being.”

“What do you mean?” Iris asked.

“Imagine if the situations were reversed—imagine for a moment you thought Cullen dead, and when he wasn’t, he came up to you and kissed you. And then avoided you. How would that… that would feel _awful_ , no?”

“Why do these conversation always end with someone making me talk to him. It would be so much easier to skip the talking.”

“Yes, but then you can get back to the kissing! Kissing is good,” Alyx added brightly.

“Yes, kissing is good,” Emma said with a half-hearted smile. “Maker’s tears, is _everyone_ in Skyhold kissing someone except me?”

A soft cough from the doorway made all three of them jump; Emma tried to suppress the tiny hiss of pain when her ribs protested the sudden movement. _Again_. 

Sebastian leaned against the doorway, a wry grin causing tiny laugh lines to appear at the corners of those _eyes_. Emma swallowed hard, flushing to the tips of her ears. She looked desperately to her cousins, lost for words.

“Alyx, I just remembered I have a book to show you, in my room. We should go!” Iris said, jumping up and gesturing to the door.

“Oh, yes,” Alyx said, barely stifling a giggle. “That book. We’ll just… leave you two alone, shall we?” Alyx said with a sly grin.

Sebastian flushed crimson as he turned towards Emma. She fisted her blankets in her hands, trying to maintain the veneer of calm as she desperately searched for something to say. Sebastian was looking at her like… she couldn’t say for sure, but there was _something_ there that made heat curl in the pit of her stomach.

_Maker, this man is so beautiful._

“How,” Emma began, clearing her throat. “How can I help you?” 

She expected a myriad of reactions, but the one she got was something she couldn’t have predicted. He slumped to the edge of her bed and gathered her into his arms without ceremony or warning. He was gentle, but intense as he held her tight. He smelled like soap and resin and something distinctly _Sebastian_ , and she greedily savored it as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. It was then she heard the soft, whimpering gasps against her hair. 

“Hey,” she whispered softly; she rubbed a tentative hand down his back, tracing out a soothing pattern between his broad shoulders. “Your...Sebastian, what’s wrong?”

“Maker, I’m a fool,” he gasped, holding her tighter. “I almost lost you, and now… now I have you thinking that…I’m an idiot, Emma.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “You’ve been so...Maker, Sebastian, would you _look at me?_ ” 

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, fresh tears spilling out onto his cheeks; “I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m nervous.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?” she asked, debating whether or not she would take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been such an arse,” he answered. “I thought I’d grown up being in Kirkwall, but I was wrong. I was still… I was indecisive. It never occurred to me that I could be a man of faith and a man who… I’ve made my decision! I _can’t_ go back!”

“Back to what? Please, Sebastian, you’re _scaring_ me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head like a scolded boy. “I’m sorry for scaring you, and I’m especially sorry for the way I’ve been acting. You must understand—for nearly twenty years, I’ve been told that wanting something is shameful and sinful. I’ve been so afraid to return to that horrid little boy that was a shame to his family. I look back, and I realize more than ever Elthina was right about at least one thing—I let myself be blown about like a weathervane. I’ve never made decisions for myself because I never knew I was _allowed._ ”

“I’m sorry… I don’t understand,” she answered, feeling emotion catch in her throat. Her heartbeat raced and fluttered under her skin—surely, he could _see_ it—and an ugly flush worked its way across her cheeks. “What is this about?”

“I had some things to sort out,” Sebastian explained after a long pause. “I learned some things that we’ll have plenty of time to discuss later, but you deserve to hear this first. I didn’t want to come to you before I was _absolutely_ sure.”

“Sure about _what_?” Emma asked, her voice a rough whisper. 

“Sure about this,” Sebastian replied. He seized her hands in his, interlacing her fingers with his. He couldn’t meet her eyes—or wouldn’t meet her eyes—as he traced his fingers up her arms. Those roughened fingertips rasped over the sensitive crook of her elbow as he cupped her upper arms. He gripped her as tightly as he dared, trying to even out his breathing. “Sure about _us_.”

“And?” Emma pressed, trying to conceal the fact that her heartbeat had shot through the roof at the mention of _‘us.’_ She resisted the urge to grin… or cry. She wasn’t sure which. “What… conclusions did you draw?”

“That you mean the world to me, Emma,” he replied. At this, his eyes met hers, and they were so warm and caring and _loving_ she felt her breath seize. “I don’t… I can’t get through all this without you. I want you, Emma; now and always, and in every way.”

She realized then she had so many questions. Maker, she had so many things she needed to say to him! She needed to tell him of the despair demon and her time in the Fade; she needed to tell him _why_ she wouldn’t come out, and how she felt she _still_ didn’t deserve him. She wanted to know what her mother said to him, and where this sudden change of heart came from, and above all where this could possibly _go._ If they had a future together…

She didn’t want to speak of it now, because he was gradually closing the distance between them until she could feel his ragged, uneven breathing on her lips. Her heart pounded in her ears as she felt his warmth through her clothes—as he gathered her closer to him. His hands on her were tender, but also desperate, like he was a dog at the end of his leash. Her eyes slide closed, unable to meet his intense gaze without feeling like her heart might stop. She leaned forward to close the distance between them, and _finally_ , his lips met hers. 

They were full and soft, but also demanding and rough. He kissed like a parched man drank water; like he’d been deprived his whole life. He held her like something infinitely precious, and the small whimpers and gasps he made sent curls of heat through her core. She held him close, her arms wrapped around those broad shoulders, clutching at his fine shirt. His hands, however, were everywhere—from her hair to the back of her neck, cradling her chin and jaw, skimming over her shoulder and down the curve of her back to settle at her waist.

She’d never been kissed like this before. Before, she’d had to steal her kisses when and where she could, getting as much affection as she could in the limited span of time. Now, she felt _savored_. Like he had all the time in the world, and he wanted to spend it doing that _wonderful_ thing he was doing with his teeth. She felt _cherished_. 

She gasped, feeling overheated and lightheaded but never wanting to stop. Sadly, he stopped when he heard a soft huff of pain.

_“Ouch, Iris. That was my foot!_ ”

_“Shut up, Alyx! They’ll hear us!”_

“ _Oh, they’re too busy_ smooching _to worry about us.”_

_“Maker, Alyx, they_ will _hear us!”_

Emma rolled her eyes; “We can already _hear_ you!” 

She heard a small, surprised squeak and a derisive snicker but nothing else. Sebastian turned back to her, laughing softly as he pressed his forehead against hers; “We were never really alone, were we?”

“Did you ever have any doubt?” Emma retorted, letting her eyes slide closed, content to share the same air with him. Just his proximity paradoxically calmed her and set her blood boiling in the _best_ way. 

“About this?” he asked, running his hand over her thigh. “Never. Now, if they’re not going to leave, should we give them something _worth_ eavesdropping on?”

“ _She’s going to touch the butt!_ ” Iris gasped. “ _Yeah_ , Princess, _get it!_ Touch the butt!”

“Maker, Alyx, what are you teaching that girl?” Emma called, trying _desperately_ not to give into the giggle building in her chest. Sebastian snorted inelegantly, muffling his laughter into the crook of her neck.

“I can’t even be mad,” Alyx replied with mock solemnity. “I am _too proud_. My baby is all grown up!”

“Alyx, I am only six years younger than you,” Iris retorted. 

“ _Do you two mind!?”_ Emma snarled, tucking herself deeper into Sebastian’s arms. 

“I suppose we’re just going to have to get used to it, hmm?” he murmured, pressing his lips against her temple. 

She smiled, purring happily at the easy contact—especially when he pressed his palm right into the small of her back; “I suppose so. 

~~~

Iris sat in Josephine’s office, half listening to what the Ambassador was saying to her. The summer heat was making its way up into the mountains and Josephine liked to keep her office balmy; Iris surmised it felt more like home to the Antivan. She kept herself from falling asleep by blinking the candle flame in front of her in and out of existence.

“Iris,” Josephine interrupted her thoughts with an aggravated sigh. “That is extremely unnerving.”

Iris looked up and smiled sheepishly at the exasperated look on Josephine’s face. “Sorry, I really am trying to pay attention I swear.”

“There isn’t much more we need to go over, so I suppose you can be on your way. I can take care of the rest of the arrangements for the Winter Palace attire.”

Iris nodded and was about to leave when she noticed a weapon supply report on the desk. Cullen would want to see that; he liked to be aware of all of the weaponry being used by the Inquisition.

“That report,” she said, gesturing to it. “It needs to go to Cullen yes?”

Josephine looked up and gave the document a cursory glance. “Yes, but it’s not imperative. I’m sure there will be more to go him by the end of the week.”

Iris snatched it up and was out the door before Josephine could even bat an eye. It wasn't that she felt she needed an excuse to go see him, but she knew there was no way she would ever muster up the courage to just go to him on her own. Walking through the rotunda would be the fastest way, but she knew Solas would stop her for a talk about something. Not that she didn’t enjoy talking to him—his stories were fascinating—but she had a purpose that didn't need interruption.

“Firefly, you joining Wicked Grace tonight?” Varric called out to her as she passed. Iris gave him a nod and a salute and kept walking. She descended the steps and crossed the courtyard, giving a wave to Scout Harding as she passed. She felt her heart quicken as she ascended the steps towards the tower and she tried her best to calm her nerves. He looked up and smiled as she entered; she felt her stomach flutter.

“Iris.” Her name sounded so amazing coming from his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have the report from the weapons shipment,” she responded quickly.

“I see,” he said, taking the parchment from her and looking it over. “I wasn’t expecting this to come to me until the end of the week.”

“Well, I know you like to keep on top of these sorts of things.” Iris blushed at the very mention of Cullen being on top of anything. “Are you busy?” 

“Not at the moment.”

“Walk with me?”

Cullen smiled brightly and nodded, indicating the door with a jerk of his chin. She liked that he let her go first—it gave her time to think. The man was too good at reading her thoughts. They strolled along the battlements together in silence. He seemed comfortable with just _being_ with her, content to just walk with her. It wasn’t something she was overtly used to, though it was growing more and more common. Especially with him. Still, she came out with a purpose, after all. Iris kept trying to find ways to start a conversation but every idea that came to mind died on her lips before she could speak. 

“It’s a nice day,” Cullen spoke up suddenly.

“What?” Iris had been lost in thought and had almost forgotten he was with her, despite her constant thoughts of how to speak to him. “I’m sorry, I was having a moment in my head.”

“Dare I ask what about?” he asked with a nervous chuckle.

“You, actually,” she said simply, meeting his gaze with as much level confidence as she could muster. “If I am being honest.”

“Me?” 

“Yes,” Iris said, halting for a moment before mustering the courage to speak again. “Cullen, I care for you. Greatly. I am wondering if you feel the same way.”

“I have thought about this, yes,” Cullen replied running his hand through his hair nervously. If her blunt honesty disarmed him, he gave no indication. They’d stopped walking, and there was a scant handsbreadth of space between them.

“What is stopping you?” Iris asked, waving her hand back and forth between them. She leaned back against the stones, which gave him the space she knew he needed. “What is stopping...this?”

“You’re the Inquisitor’s sister—we’re at war! We have our duties to the Inquisition,” he explained; the nervous waver in his voice revealing _more_. 

“Do we not also have a duty to ourselves? To our hearts?” Iris spoke softly.

“I won’t deny that I want this… want _you_ ,” he said moving closer to her. His breath ghosted across her lips and she licked them in response. “Do you…”

“Yes,” she answered back her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his tenderly. His hand came up to her cheek and she whimpered, feeling his tongue press against her bottom lip.

“Commander, you asked for Sister Leliana’s report,” a voice sounded off near them. Iris heard Cullen growl as he moved away from her, the anger in his stance already prevalent.

“What?” he snarled at the scout who approached, completely unaware.

“The Spymaster’s report? You wanted it delivered without delay,” he responded looking down at the missive in his hands. When he finally looked up, he paled, seeing Cullen staring him down. Iris could not see his expression, but judging from the face the scout made it was not a pleasant one. He looked to Iris; she felt herself blush as the realization of what he had interrupted was made clear to him. “To… your office. Right,” he said nervously, backing away slowly.

Iris might have laughed if the situation weren’t already causing her untoward amounts of embarrassment. Obviously this was never going to work; every moment they shared was interrupted. She would never be able to tell him how she felt unless she yelled it at him without taking a breath.

“Perhaps it's best if we…”

She didn’t get to finish. He didn’t let her. But she wouldn't complain, because he was on her. He wasn’t _gentle_ ; quite the opposite, actually. He curled around her, bracketing her hips with his arms and _dragging_ her against him. She pressed against his warmth—blistering in the heat of summer as he crashed his lips against hers. 

His free hand tangled into her hair as he tilted her head to get a better angle; he slanted his mouth against hers, prying her lips open with quick, heated presses of his tongue. She made a strangled sound, caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and he pressed the advantage. She felt tongue and lip and teeth as he _consumed_ her, just as her fire could consume the air in a room. Her heart pounded in her chestas he slowly pulled away with one. Two. Three sucking kisses to her lower lip. She felt rather weak in the knees when she looked into those golden eyes—dark with desire, but soft with… something.

“Iris,” he whispered her name reverently against her lips. “Are you certain?”

“Only that if you don’t kiss me again I will literally roast you this time,” she replied with a smirk. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back down to her.

~~~

When the gatekeeper’s horn sounded, Alyx tipped back what was left of her mug of ale, made her way out of the Herald’s Rest and up towards the ramparts.

With the arrival of each group of mages, she told herself that this time she wouldn’t look, wouldn’t submit herself to the traitorous hope that bubbled up in her chest every time she spotted a head of dark hair among them.

And with the arrival of each group of mages, she found herself climbing these very stairs, leaning her elbows against the rough stone of this stretch of the battlements as she waited, watching, hating the part of herself that still clung to an impossible hope.

Alyx guessed that there were about twenty mages, this time. Another pocket of the rebellion that had been holed up somewhere, unaware the fighting had stopped. A few injured among them, leaning on each other for support; one or two riding in a wagon at the rear.

Only one head of hair dark enough to be Grier’s, and it was a boy, hardly thirteen years by the look of him. Alyx pushed herself off the battlements, scowling at her foolish hope.

Grier was probably dead. Sure, she’d made it out of Ostwick, but would she not have come to find Iris again if she yet lived?

_“It’s not much, but as long as it glows you know she’s alive.”_

Alyx brought her hand to the phylactery around her neck. Some days she felt like its soft glow was the only thing keeping her going. Some days she wished Emma had never given it to her, had never fed her this fool’s hope.

Alyx ran a hand through her hair, linked her hands behind her neck as she stared at her feet, heaving a deep sigh. The sun was glinting off the clasps of her vest, sending tiny rays of light _—_

_—_ light that was soft and warm and not reflecting off her clasps at all but _shining through her shirt._

Alyx’s heart skipped a beat, thumping an uneven rhythm as she raised a shaking hand to the chains around her neck, pulling Grier’s phylactery out from under her clothes.

It shone brightly, sending beams of light dancing across the battlements.


	37. Chapter 37

Alyx stared at the glowing phylactery, her mouth falling open.

“Grier,” she whispered.

Grier was alive, she was… she was _here_.

Alyx threw herself down the stairs, taking them three at a time in her haste, vaulting the final few and dashing towards the group of mages where they gathered by the gate.

“ _GRIER_ ,” she cried as she approached. Several mages turned, parting for her.

She followed their glances, and as she watched, a woman towards the back of the group turned slowly, pushing back her hood to reveal glossy black hair.

Their eyes met, and for a horrible moment Alyx was sure she was going to pass out on the spot. Her knees trembled and the world seemed to tilt. Then Grier smiled, and she was running, and Alyx could only take a few dazed steps before she was nearly bowled over as Grier threw herself into her arms. Alyx was distantly aware that she was crying, but the only thing that mattered was Grier, alive and safe and whole and laughing in her arms.

Alyx brushed Grier’s hair behind her ear, taking her face in both hands, staring awestruck as she committed every feature to memory once more.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, and that foolish, impossible hope she’d carried in her chest all this time exploded into uncontainable joy, and it was _too much_ . She was certain she would burst with the force of it, so instead she surged forward, crushing Grier’s lips to her own, and she was _home_.

Grier’s arms wound around her neck, nails dragging across her scalp where the hair was shaved close. They were so lost in each other she couldn’t even say who deepened the kiss first but Grier’s tongue was hot against hers and Alyx moaned into her mouth. She tightened her arm around Grier’s waist, sliding her other hand over her ass to lift her up. She hummed contentedly as Grier swung her legs up around her hips, locking her ankles together at the small of Alyx’s back.

“GET A ROOM,” a voice called from somewhere above them--Emma, unless Alyx was very much mistaken. Alyx unwound her arm from Grier’s waist, raising her hand above her head in a rude gesture without breaking their kiss.

Grier pulled back a moment later, resting their foreheads together as they both breathed rapidly.

“You’re here,” Grier said, sounding almost disbelieving even as a huge grin split her face. “I heard--Inquisitor _Trevelyan_ \--”

“My cousin Xander.”

“Iris’s brother?”

“Yep,” Alyx said. “Iris is here too. And Emma.”

Grier frowned. “Emma? The Knight Enchanter?”

“Don’t make that face,” Alyx said with a huff of laughter. “Emma’s alright. Kind of amazing, actually, but don’t ever tell her I said that. Also I strongly suspect that was her shouting at us to get a room,” Alyx added with a grin.

“Now that you mention it,” Grier said, ducking forward to give Alyx’s lips another quick peck, “I find I am rather interested in seeing this room of yours.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Alyx said with a brilliant smile. Without warning, she hoisted Grier over her shoulder; Grier let out an undignified squeak as Alyx strode towards the keep, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Alyx, what are you--” Xander spluttered as she made her way into the main hall.

“Sorry, Xander, whatever business you have for me, it will have to wait!” she called, crossing the hall with a few quick strides and turning down the corridor towards her room.

Finally-- _finally--_ she reached it, and a locked door stood between them and the rest of the world. She set Grier carefully back on her feet, letting her hands linger over her hips.  

“This is a first,” she said, feeling inexplicably nervous suddenly. “Doors! That _lock!”_

“Alyx. _Mi corazón,_ ” Grier said fondly, bringing one hand to her cheek.

“I-- _fuck,_ I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Alyx said, feeling close to tears and blinking rapidly to stave them off.

“Oh, Alyx,” Grier said, throwing her arms around Alyx’s neck. Alyx wrapped her arms tightly around Grier’s smaller form, holding on to her like she was the only thing keeping Alyx from drowning.

“Fuck, I missed you. I can’t believe--eight _years…”_

“Never again,” Grier vowed, and Alyx smiled at the faint accent pulling at her vowels.

“ _Never,”_ Alyx echoed, and then, slipping a hand around Grier’s neck, pressed their lips together. This, at least, had not changed. Kissing Grier would always feel like coming home.

Her hands trembled, though, as she reached between them to unclasp Grier’s cloak. Grier smiled against her lips as the garment slid over her shoulders and fell to the floor.

“You’re here,” Alyx repeated, punctuating her words with kisses. “You’re really _here._ Is it strange that I’m nervous?”

“No,” Grier replied with a quiet laugh. “It’s been eight years, Alyx. I don’t even know where to begin.” Grier’s eyes darted over Alyx’s face. “I like the new tattoos. And the hair. _Especially_ the hair.”

“Thanks.” Alyx grinned. “You look… Maker, you look exactly the same.”

Grier laughed again, smiling that dazzling smile, and Alyx couldn’t help capturing her lips again.

“I know,” Alyx declared. “How about I call for a bath; you can relax, get some of that road grime off you. And then… then I daresay we have some catching up to do.”

“You are, as always, full of fantastic ideas,” Grier said.

Thanks to the large number of mages in Skyhold, filling and heating a bath was nowhere near as laborious a task as it would otherwise be. Soon enough, the tub was filled to the brim with steaming water. As Grier began to reach for the clasps of her vest, Alyx held up a hand to stop her.

“May I?”

“Of course,” Grier said, stepping towards her. One by one, Alyx undid the clasps, and then slid the vest slowly over Grier’s shoulders. Then, she tugged the loose linen blouse free from her trousers and lifted it over her head. She sank to the floor, untying the laces of Grier’s dust-caked boots, tugging them loose. Grier lifted each foot one at a time so she could pull them off. Before she stood back up, she untied the laces of Grier’s trousers and slid them over her hips to the floor so Grier could step out of them.

Alyx looked up, and she was sure her sharp intake of breath was audible. But how could she help it; Grier stood before her in nothing but her smalls, and she was more beautiful than ever. Alyx pressed soft kisses to the soft, unmarred skin of Grier’s stomach as she stood. Grier giggled.

“Alyx, that tickles.”

“Sorry. Can’t help myself,” Alyx said, moving up to Grier’s collarbone.

“My lovely bath is getting cold. Are you undressing me or not?”

“Not very quickly it isn’t, in this heat. I could also point out that we’re both mages, and either one of us could heat it back up if we needed to. But you do make an excellent point; I _was_ undressing you.” Alyx smiled, and reached around to unclasp Grier’s breastband; then, sliding her hands over smooth skin, she hooked a finger in either side of her smalls and slid them off. Unable to help herself, Alyx took a couple of steps back in order to properly take in the sight before her.

“Do you know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you entirely naked?” Alyx said with an awed smile.

“I suppose it is,” Grier said, her cheeks tinged ever so slightly with red.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Alyx said, her hands finding Grier’s hips, fingers pressing into the warm skin there.

“I’m also _filthy._ ”

“Yes, yes, get in your bath! Oh, wait! Hang on,” she said, rummaging in a cabinet by the bath. She retrieved a stoppered bottle from it, and carried it back over to the bath. “Dorian gave me this. Fantastic stuff; I tend to hoard it for special occasions, but I definitely think this counts,” she explained as she poured a measure of the perfumed oils into the bath. “Okay, now you may get in!”

A deep sigh escaped Grier as she finally stepped into the steaming water. “You’re right, that smells _incredible,”_ she sighed.

Alyx grabbed a stool and pulled it up to the head of the tub as Grier relaxed into the water. “Come on, I’ll wash your hair.”

Grier looked over her shoulder at Alyx, frowning bemusedly. “Really? You’re not going to get in with me?”

“Oh, um. Yeah, okay,” Alyx said, cursing herself for how awkward she sounded. She made quick work of the fastenings of her vest, then slipped it off. She began to pull off her shirt, but hesitated, fingers toying with the hem. Grier was so completely unchanged by the years they’d spent apart; what would she think of Alyx now? Alyx liked to think she’d more or less come to terms with her scars herself, but Grier hadn’t had that chance.

“Alyx,” Grier said gently, interrupting her chain of thought as she reached up to touch Alyx’s hand, leaving trails of water over her skin. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Alyx nodded, and pulled the shirt over her head in one fluid motion. She looked away as she reached up to slip off her breastband, but didn’t miss Grier’s sharp intake of breath. Still averting her gaze, Alyx quickly shucked her boots and slid off her trousers and smalls so that she, too, was completely bare. She fought the urge to cross her arms. She was being ridiculous, she knew; she’d stripped to her breastband for all of Skyhold to see, and she was nervous to be naked in front of her lover?

“Look at me,” Grier said, the water sloshing as she stood up. Reluctantly, Alyx complied. She was completely unprepared for the blazing emotion in Grier’s warm brown eyes. Grier took Alyx’s face in her hands, fingers tracing the paths her tattoos made across her lightly freckled skin. “You are so gorgeous, _mi corazón.”_  

Alyx reached up to grab Grier’s hand, turning to press a kiss against her palm. Then she stepped into the bath, and together they sank into the soothingly hot water. Alyx leaned back against the end of the tub, pulling Grier against her chest.

“Now can I wash your hair?”

“Oh, please,” Grier said, humming happily as Alyx cupped water in her hands and poured it over her head.

“Go ahead and tip your head under, it’ll be faster,” Alyx said with a laugh. “I forgot how thick your hair was.” Grier complied, tilting her head backwards until her hair was completely submerged before sitting up again. Alyx grabbed a bit of soap, working it into a lather between her hands before massaging it over Grier’s scalp. Grier let out a soft moan of contentment, leaning back into Alyx’s fingers. Alyx took her time to make sure all the grime was scrubbed free from her long tresses, before working the soap down over her neck and shoulders. With attention bordering on reverence, she gently rinsed the dust and dirt of weeks of travel from Grier’s skin until it glistened golden brown in the water.

Grier had relaxed completely, head lolling back onto Alyx’s shoulder. Though Grier was long since clean, Alyx couldn’t stop touching her; she ran her hands absentmindedly over smooth skin, slick with the luxurious bath oils.

“Are you asleep yet?” Alyx asked with a soft giggle.

“Mmh, not quite.”

Alyx moved her hands to Grier’s shoulders, gently kneading away the knots of tension there. Slowly she worked her hands lower, down Grier’s arms, across her stomach--

“No,” Grier said, grabbing Alyx’s hand as she started to reach lower. “Bed. I want to see you.”

“Are you sure?” Alyx asked with a humorless chuckle.

“Alyx!” Grier whirled around, sloshing water over the sides of the tub as she did so. She grabbed Alyx’s face in both hands, gazing intently into her eyes. “Do you really think I will think less of you for the marks that _they_ put on you? I’m surprised at you, Alyx.” Grier’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Alyx tried to duck her head, but Grier’s insistent fingers at her chin forced her to look up.

“I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m fucking disfigured, Grier! It’s hard not to…”

“ _No._ You are beautiful, do you hear me? You are beautiful because you are _you._ That is not something they can take away by marring your skin!” Grier cried.

“Yes, yes, I’m _beautiful on the inside._ I get it,” Alyx muttered.

“Do I need to sing your praises?” Grier asked, giving her a winning smile. “Do I need to write odes to your magnificent tits? Or perhaps wax poetic on how very _strong_ you look now, and how sexy I find all that muscle? Or perhaps your lips, and all the sinful things I want you to do to me with them--”

Alyx surged forward, cutting Grier off with a kiss.

“Okay, I hear you,” she said, leaning their foreheads together.

“Good,” Grier said emphatically. “No more of that, do you hear me?”

“Yes, ser,” Alyx said with a mock salute.

“Now that that’s settled,” Grier said, looking up at Alyx from under her dark lashes. “We have a _bed_ and a _locked door_ , and I think we should take full advantage of that luxury.”

~~~

“So. Chamberlain of the Inquisition? How did that happen?” Grier asked, sprawling across Alyx’s bed, sated and absolutely _fucking_ gorgeous in the morning sunlight.

“Rampant nepotism,” Alyx said with a wide grin. Grier gave her a _look_ , and Alyx sighed. “Okay, okay. Long story short, I came to warn the Inquisition about a trap laid for Xander by a Tevinter Magister in Redcliffe. I was going to leave after that, to come find you, but… Shit, Grier, there was a fucking hole in the sky! As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t just ignore that. When Emma asked me to go to Therinfal with her, I agreed.” She made a face at the memory of the Templar fortress. “It was all downhill from there, I suppose,” she said with a soft laugh.

“I’m proud of you, Alyx,” Grier said with a warm smile.

“Oh shut it, you,” Alyx said, silencing her with a kiss.

“Oh no you don’t!” Grier cried. “We’ve been apart for eight years! I want to know everything, Alyx.”

“Exactly! Eight years! That is a _lot_ of years of not kissing you to make up for,” Alyx retorted.

“ _Alyx!”_

“Fine, fine! I suppose you want the whole shitty story, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Alyx sighed. “I don’t have to tell you about… about the Gallows, do I?”

“Not if you don’t want to. I think I can fill in some of the blanks,” Grier said gently, her brow furrowing as she traced the scars on Alyx’s back with a light touch.

“Maybe later then,” Alyx said. “Let’s start with the night the Gallows fell, shall we? Only _good_ thing that ever happened in that place. I imagine you know some of what happened?”

“Yeah. Everyone heard about it. That mage blew up the Chantry, the Knight Commander tried to Annul the Circle, the Champion stopped her.”

“You make it all sound so very _easy_ ,” Alyx said with a soft laugh. “But yes, I suppose that is how it began. _That mage_ , whose name happens to be Anders, blew up the Chantry. I didn’t see it, of course; I _felt_ it though, and knew something had happened.”

Alyx sank back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling as she spoke, telling Grier everything that had happened that night. The Enchanters frantically running door to door, getting as many out as they could before the Templars came for them. Any able to fight were urged to remain and do so; Alyx hadn’t been in any shape for fighting, truthfully, but she wasn’t going to let it stand in the way of getting any revenge she could on that bitch Meredith.

She wasn’t sure how much help she’d even been in that battle, a malnourished mage with a stolen staff, fighting alongside the likes of Hawke and Fenris and Isabela. But they’d won, eventually, and much to her surprise, Cullen stepped aside and let Hawke and her friends pass. When Alyx had tried to follow, Cullen stepped in front of her, spouting some bullshit about keeping the remaining mages protected. She’d raised her borrowed staff, pulling on the last ounce of her mana to draw a threatening crackle of electricity around her outstretched hands. _Stop me, then_ , she’d said, and walked free from the Gallows courtyard. Then, of course, she’d met Anders.

“Wait-- _Anders?”_ Grier interrupted. “As in _the_ Anders?”    

Alyx laughed. “You’d think I’d be more used to that reaction by now. Yes, _the_ Anders.”

“You… you knew him, didn’t you?”

“Not then, I didn’t,” Alyx said. “After, though. We escaped Kirkwall together. He helped train me in combat magic, all the actually _useful_ magics they never taught us in the Circle. He was the first friend I’d had since…”

“Maker, it was him, wasn’t it? You told me--last night, you told me that you’d been with someone since we’d been apart. It was _Anders?”_

“Yeah, it was him. We… we were drunk one night, it just _happened_ , I’m sorry,” Alyx blurted out, too fast.

“Alyx!” Grier chided with a laugh. “ _Braska_ , Alyx, it’s been eight years! I hardly expected you to be _celibate!_ ”

Alyx shoved at her playfully. “I know, I know. I just… You know I’ve never stopped loving you, right? Not for a second. If I had known, if I’d had any _idea_ where you were--”

“Shh.” Grier leaned over her, cupping Alyx’s cheek with one hand and fixing her with an intense gaze. “It is not your fault, Alyx. The Circle separated us, kept us apart. But I’m here _now_ ; we found each other. Don’t worry about things that are in the past.”

Alyx took a deep breath, slipping a hand into Grier’s hair and pulling her down to press a kiss to her lips. “Fair enough,” she said.

“Now, tell me about this Anders,” Grier said brightly.

“Enough talking,” Alyx declared. “How about I show you a trick he taught me instead?” She gave Grier a wicked smirk.

“Oh, really? What would that be?”

“I said _show,_ not _tell_ ,” Alyx said, rolling them over so she was on top of Grier, straddling her hips. She let a few sparks of electricity run up and down her fingers.

“Then show me,” Grier said, slightly breathless, and Alyx grinned.

~~~

Iris gave them a day before she made her way to Alyx’s chambers and began pounding on the door.

“Alright you two, I have given you more than enough time to _reunite!_ ” Iris yelled before pounding on the door again. “I missed her too!”

Iris listened to the sounds of giggles and shuffling feet behind the door and began to tap her foot impatiently.

“I can hear you foot-tapping out there, you know,” Alyx called. “You could give us two seconds! Unless you _want_ to see us naked.”

“It’s not like you don’t have the same parts as me!”

“So… you _do_ want us to answer the door naked then?” Alyx quipped.

“Do you hear that?” Iris warned. “That’s the fireball that will decimate this door if you don’t come out in two minutes...clothed!”

She had barely finished speaking when the door swung open. “We were already coming out! No fireballs necessary. Sheesh, Iris,” Alyx said with a smirk. She might have countered with more sass had she not been shoved immediately to the side by her cousin who launched herself at Grier. Iris threw her arms around the woman in a bracing hug.

“You’re alive, you’re here, you found us!”

“Yes, I’m here,” Grier said, voice slightly strained from how forcefully Iris was hugging her. “It’s good to see you too, Iris,” she added with a chuckle.

“I’m so sorry I left,” Iris cried out. “I should have stuck with you, I should have asked you to come with me.”

“The way I remember it, I was the one who refused to go with you to Redcliffe. I was just being stubborn,” Grier said.

“Grier, I had an adventure. Just like in my books!” Iris began excitedly. “I even got to meet heroes from my books! The Champion, The Hero of Ferelden, and their elven lovers!”

“Oh, really?” Grier said with a laugh. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

“Okay, if we’re going _there_ , why don’t we have this conversation over some drinks?” Alyx suggested.

“Yes, the tavern!” Iris grabbed Grier’s hand and began dragging her down the hall. “The best stuff happens at the tavern, I almost burned down the tavern pretending to be a dragon, but I’m sure Cabot won’t kick me out if I try it again for you.”

“You sure you haven’t already started without us there, Iris?” Alyx said.

~~~

Emma squealed when Sebastian poked her in the side; he knew she was ticklish and _damn_ Gerhardt, but he had told him. The aforementioned big brother was sitting there giggling like an imbecile while Emma tried to thwart Sebastian’s efforts.

“Sebastian, this blouse was _not cheap_ , and if I spill ale on it, I will blame you!”

“Sorry, love,” he chuckled in a way that told her he was absolutely _not_ sorry. “You’re just so precious when you squeal like that.”

He followed it up with another ticklish poke into her side, which she tried so very hard to resist, but found she couldn’t. She fairly flung herself up from the table, whirling away from him; “Gerhardt, save me! You’re my big brother--you’re supposed to help!”

“This is too fun to watch,” Gerhardt laughed. “Also, her sides are bad, but tip for you, Sebastian--it’s worse behind her knees.”

“Bloody _traitor_ ,” Emma giggled as Sebastian’s quick fingers found their way behind her legs. “The both of you, children! No I am going to get another drink, and if the two of you want something, _tough!_ ”

As she made her way to the bar, she heard a raucous laughter from the door; Iris, Alyx and Grier were pouring through the door, giggling about something or other. Emma waved when she caught Alyx’s eyes, beckoning Cabot over for their drink orders.

“Iris and Alyx’s usual,” she muttered. “I’m not sure what Grier likes, though… shit. Hey, ladies, Sebastian and I have a table in the back. You should join us!”

“You and _Sebastian,_ huh?” Alyx said with a grin.

“Oh, Gerhardt is with us, so don’t be crude,” Emma retorted, grabbing Cabot’s damp rag and hurling it at Alyx’s head.

“I see,” Alyx said, a bit coolly.

“Actually, he was asking about Grier and you earlier,” Emma continued, suddenly a touch wary. Alyx was rarely this cold unless it had something to do with Kirkwall…

_Does my brother have some secrets he hasn’t told me?_

“I think he was wondering how you two were doing,” she continued. “He said he hasn’t seen much of you since he got here.”

Alyx just nodded, suddenly very preoccupied with the drinks Cabot had just set down on the bar.

“Is… Is there something--” Emma couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Emma,” Gerhardt called, coming around the corner. “I figured you would--oh. Enchanter Findlay… oh, apologies _Grier_. It’s been a long time--how are you?”

“I’m excellent, Knight--er, do I still call you Knight Commander?” Grier said.

“Just Gerhardt these days,” he chuckled. “You look good--glad to see you’ve made it back. How’s Marcia? I recall you and her were close before you left.”

“Come on,” Alyx said suddenly, hooking her arm through Grier’s. “I want to introduce you to Bull and Sera.”

“Alyx!” Grier protested, pulling her arm free. “I was talking!”

“Fine,” Alyx said, scrunching her nose angrily. “Come find me when you’re done.”

“Hey, Alyx,” Emma said gently. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Leave it alone, Emms,” Gerhardt replied, his voice low and mournful. “It’s alright.”

“Gerhardt!” Iris interrupted the solemnity of the moment. “Have you seen Cull...I mean have you seen the Commander here tonight?”

“Cullen’s in his office, kiddo,” Gerhardt answered with a knowing wink. “Want me to fetch him for you?”

“No...I can do it,” Iris spoke quickly and immediately turned on her heel to exit the tavern.

Emma had to smile at Iris’s enthusiasm, but she recognized her brother’s discomfort. He was shy around new people under the best of circumstances, and Alyx obviously had some sort of bone to pick with him. She gave him a little nudge; “Hey, why don’t you keep Sebastian company, hm? We’ll be right over.”

“Sounds good,” Gerhardt replied with a soft nuzzle to Emma’s forehead before he turned to Grier. “It was good seeing you Enchan--I mean, Grier.”

“Likewise,” Grier said with a smile.

As Gerhardt walked away, Emma turned towards Grier; “Do you have any idea what that was about?”

“Not really, no,” Grier said, glancing over towards Alyx.

Emma twitched her nose and crossed her arms; “How are you so familiar with my brother? I mean, I know he was Knight Commander in Ostwick, but…”

“The Knight Commander did incredible things for the Circle when he took charge,” Grier answered. “He opened free healer’s clinics in the poor districts and put the finest Spirit Healers out there with the public where we healed their wounds, cured their sick, and delivered their babes. It did incredible things.”

“That’s amazing,” Emma said. “I was away from Ostwick a lot, so I didn’t get to see much of the changes my brother put in, but I take it _you_ were one of those healers?”

“I was,” Grier replied, puffing up a bit proudly. “I am one of the finest Spirit Healers that ever came from the Marches, if I do say so myself.”

“Ok, you and Alyx are perfect for each other,” Emma chuckled.

“I can’t exactly argue with you there,” Grier said, looking at Alyx with a fond smile.

“Still, Gerhardt took over after Alyx was transferred,” Emma murmured, rubbing at her chin. “I mean, he was Knight Captain, but--oh. _Oh_.”

“Oh?”

“Grier, Gerhardt was Knight Captain when Alyx was transferred,” Emma said with a sudden, horrible realization. “And if I remember Knight Commander Marcus at all, he was a _real_ piece of work.”

“You mean you think…” Grier said, trailing off.

“I’m pretty sure Alyx thinks Gerhardt abandoned her,” Emma said softly. “And in my experience with Alyx, blunt honesty works better than anything; I think we should approach her and ask her outright, but I don’t want to cause problems with you two.”

Before Grier could answer, the front door of the tavern literally slammed open. Cabot whirled towards the offender, scowling that very potent scowl of his. A figure that _might_ have been imposing, had she not known him, darkened the doorway to the Rest, and sudden Emma could not stop laughing; “Oh, no.”

“What’s going on in here?” Zane shouted. “Don’t tell me you started the party without me.”  He grinned as he strode towards them, and leaned casually against the bar.

“Hello, precious baby cousin,” Emma cooed mockingly, ruffling his artfully messy coif (And Zane’s hair could _only_ be described as a coif). “And of _course_ we waited for you to start the party--without you, we may have leftover wine! And we can’t have that.”

“No, indeed we can’t,” Zane agreed. “And who is this _lovely_ creature?” he said, taking Grier’s hand in his and raising it to his lips.

“ _Spoken for_ ,” Alyx said, appearing suddenly behind Grier and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Ah, so this is the famous Grier! Wonderful to meet you at last,” Zane said with a (much less flirtatious) smile.

“Alyx, did you know your obnoxious kid brother was going to darken our doorway?” Emma asked, poking Zane in the ribs. “Or is this just another one of his fabulous surprises?”

“I knew he’d be back sooner or later,” Alyx said, casting a knowing glance over towards the Bull.

“I’ll have you know I am here on _business,_ as the Captain of the Merman’s Mercy,” Zane said, jabbing a finger towards Alyx’s chest.

“Oh, of course, I’m sure your being here has _absolutely nothing_ to do with the impressively large qunari sitting over there. Nothing at all!” Alyx teased.

“Ah, we should stop teasing, Alyx,” Emma stage-whispered dramatically. “The _captain_ is here on _very important business_.”

“Oh stop it, you two,” Grier chastised playfully. “You said cousin, though, Emma--is this another Trevelyan?”

“Oh, right! Introductions are a thing I have to do. This is my brother, Zane,” Alyx said.

“Really?” Grier exclaimed. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“You’ll revise that statement when you get to know him,” Emma teased.

“I’ll not stand for such slander!” Zane said. “I am incredible,” he corrected with a grin.

“Oh, excuse me, captain,” Emma placated, holding her hands out in front of her. “My apologies--I wasn’t aware you were such an exemplary example of the impossible standard we should all strive to be.”

“Has anyone told you your insults have gotten wordy?” Zane deadpanned.

Emma shrugged; “I have an extensive vocabulary, and I like to use it whenever possible.”

“Speaking of extensive vocabulary, where’s Iris?” Zane asked.

“Oh yes, that is an _excellent_ question,” Alyx said with a slight giggle. “What _could possibly_ be taking her so long?”

Emma giggled brightly; “Oh, I’m sure she’s just _going over troop movements_ with the Commander, or something of that nature.”

“What am I missing?” Grier asked, raising an eyebrow at Alyx and Emma.

“I imagine you’ll see in a minute,” Alyx said.

As if on cue, Iris wanded in through the open door, her knees looking a bit wobbly and her face flushed pink. Alyx snickered under her breath and made a joke about a newborn foal; after a count of five, Cullen came in after her, looking equally flushed. Emma rolled her eyes--she recognized the “we absolutely didn’t come in together” trick, and Cullen and Iris were being particularly obvious that day.

“Zane!” Iris cried out excitedly. “When did you sail in?”

“Oh, very clever. I just got here,” Zane replied. “I see we’re greeting visiting captains in our nightgowns now, Envoy. Or do I have Commander Cullen to blame for the state of your dress?”

Iris flushed pink and looked down and adjusted the buttons along the front of her dress. “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about. I must have tripped coming back to the tavern. The Commander and I were discussing troop movements when I mentioned he might want to join us tonight.”

Emma couldn’t help it. She actually choked on the sip of ale she’d been taking as she snorted in laughter; “ _Troop movements!_ ”

She must have been too loud, because she heard Sebastian’s semi-concerned laughter from across the pub; “Emma, darling, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she called back. “Iris is just the worst liar in Skyhold, that’s all.”

“We were discussing things at one point I swear!” Iris insisted. “There’s no point in trying to hide it anymore is there?”

“You know Alyx can smell gossip from a mile away,” Emma said with a shrug. “And trying to hide it from her makes it worse--am I right, Grier?”

But Grier’s good nature had faded, and quickly. She was now concerned with scowling at the Commander; “Cullen… why does that sound familiar?”

Iris paled for a moment and looked to both Alyx and Emma. She nervously circled her foot on the floor before beginning. “Well...he sort of was well...a templar...in Kirkwall.”

“Ah, I see,” Grier said with a tight smile. “Knight Captain Cullen, I assume?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Iris added quickly. “He’s changed, he left, he…” She looked to Alyx desperately.

Emma stepped in gently; “Cullen isn’t Knight Captain anymore. We have left the Order--him some time back, actually.”

“Right,” Grier said, nodding slowly.

Emma was _bad_ at the defusing-tension thing, but she was going to try either way; “Umm… we should head over to the table? I’m sure it’s more comfortable, and I’m positive Sebastian misses me. Oh, Grier, I have to introduce you to Sebastian!”

She was talking way too loudly. She could feel it.

“Lead the way,” Grier said, with a smile that was just slightly strained.

While the surface-level tension was defused, Emma could sense _something_. Iris had visibly deflated, and even the comforting presence of Cullen’s gentle hand between her shoulderblades didn’t seem to do much to help. She led the group back to the table, trying not to notice the two empty chairs and the conspicuously absent Dorian and Xander.

_Where did those two disappear to?_

Emma settled into the chair next to Sebastian, and he gave her one of those heart-melting smiles; “Grier, this is Sebastian Vael. Sebastian, this is the famous Grier.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said in that special way he always used to put people at instant ease. He turned his eyes onto Zane and quirked a brow. “Zane. It’s been a long time. How are you?”

“Fantastic,” Zane said, sinking casually into a chair near the Bull’s. “And yourself?”

Sebastian wrapped his arm around Emma’s waist, pulling her close and planting a chaste kiss on the curve of her jaw; “Couldn’t be better, my friend.”

Emma flushed bright red, taking a long pull from her drink and trying to suppress the humiliating shudder at the feel of his lips on her; “So...has anyone seen Xander? He and Dorian were here when I left.”

“Haven’t seen him all day,” Alyx said with an amused grin.

“You just got here,” Sebastian teased. “He and Dorian got up not long after Zane got here; I haven’t seen them since.”

Sera’s messy blonde head suddenly appeared over the balcony; “Can someone come separate these two--glow stick’s tonguing mustache like it’s going out of style _right where I can see it_.”

_Glow stick? Mustache? Oh, Sera, leave the nicknames to Varric and Bull, please._

“Well looks like we’ve found my brother,” Iris said with a giggle before heading upstairs. There was a sudden, surprised yelp--most definitely not Iris, though--before she came barreling back down the stairs with a manic glint in her eyes. “Hide me!”

She ducked behind Cullen with a distinctly Sera-like giggle before heavy boot-falls came clambering down the stairs; “ _Iris Valentina Charlotte Sofia Trevelyan,_ when I find you, you are in _big_ trouble!”

“Iris, what did you do?” Cullen murmured with a barely-concealed chuckle, though he stood stoically at military rest like a good soldier.

“I burned his ass, it was dark, was supposed to be Dorian,” She whispered. “Stop standing like a soldier you idiot, act natural.”

“Remind me why I should protect you, again?” he asked, quirking his brow. “And I always stand like this.”

“I don’t think you’re going to fool him if you continue to stand there and talk to yourself,” Emma said.

Xander came storming down the steps, his face flushed (though, if the atrocious state of his hair and the ruby color of his lips was any indicator, it was most certainly _not_ an angry flush); “Where is she? I know she’s down here!”

Emma shrugged; “Haven’t seen her. You should check the library.”

“Don’t give me that!” Xander demanded. He whirled on Cullen. “Where is she, Cullen?”

Cullen gave Xander a look that was so innocent, it _had_ to be guilty; “Who knows, Inquisitor? She’s so tiny, she could be _anywhere_.”

“You might as well give up now, Xander,” Alyx said with a dramatic sigh. “We may never find her. For all we know, a passing breeze could have carried her away.”

“Yes, she could be flying through the skies like the mighty High Dragon,” Cullen intoned dramatically. “Raining fire down on any who dared to…” he grimaced and let out a yelp.

“You ass!” Iris squealed from behind him.

“No that was my ass!” he retorted backing away from her.

“Iris!” Xander snapped, though it was playful. “Look at my pants Iris!”

“Yes I see them, they are very nice, what fabric is that?”

“They’re singed, Iris!” Xander cried. “They’re singed and now my arse hurts!”

“Oh, Maker, Iris, what did you do?” Emma laughed. Sebastian had his face buried in his palm, his shoulders shaking with silent but powerful laughter.

“I thought you were Dorian!”

 _“That’s not much better, Iris!”_ Xander retorted, somehow flushing even redder. “ _Why do you want to touch my lover’s butt, Iris?_ ”

“I didn’t touch your ass! I shot a fireball at it!” Iris yelled back. “A small, tiny, mostly harmless fireball.”

“There’s no such thing as a harmless fireball, darling,” Dorian said, coming down the stairs. His casual demeanor was totally belied by his mussed hair and swollen lips. “She didn’t mean anything by it, though, so I suggest a mild punishment. Like take away that manuscript she’s been translating for the week.”

“You traitor! I met you first!”

“Yes, dear, but see he just called me his lover, and I don’t think I could be mad at him right now if I tried,” Dorian said smugly.

“And that’s Xander,” Emma said dryly to Grier. “Our Inquisitor--he makes a good first impression.”

“Indeed he does,” Grier said with a laugh. “It’s nice to meet you, Inquisitor.”

“Just Xander, if you don’t mind,” he replied. “And it’s nice to finally meet you, too. Alyx has told me all about you. Good things, though. I assure you.”

“Has she, now?” Grier said, glancing over at Alyx.

“Alyx talks about you _constantly_ ,” Emma teased. “She missed you.”

Grier smiled, and leaned up to press a kiss to Alyx’s noticeably flushed cheek. Emma leaned her cheek on the top of Sebastian’s head, feeling a lightness that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of ale she’d consumed on an empty stomach. When she’d given Alyx the phylactery, she’d never imagined it could turn out this well. The fact they were able to just step back into the relationship, pick each other up like no time had passed and nothing had changed… it was a dream for her. Catching a glimpse of Sebastian’s fond smile out of the corner of her eye, she hoped she’d find it someday.

Maybe the tiny, traitorous part of her soul hoped she’d already found it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting, life got in the way for all three of us this week.


	38. Chapter 38

“Alyx!” Xander pounded on her door one more time, putting all his warrior’s strength into his arm. “Alyx Celeste Trevelyan you come out here this  _ minute! _ ”

“Alright, I’m coming!” she called from within. There was a giggle and a soft moan which made Xander’s ears heat with embarrassment, before the door flew open. Grier lay splayed over the massive bed, her modesty only protected with the fine sheet, while Alyx looked for all the world like she  _ hadn’t _ spent the past week ravishing her long-lost lover. “Reporting for duty Inquisitor. Oh, and use my middle name again, and I’ll shove my staff so far up your ass--”

“Sorry, darling, but the only staff going in the Inquisitor is  _ mine _ .” 

Xander shifted uncomfortably, turning his eyes on Dorian. The man was emerging from his chambers down the hall from Alyx’s, and it just then occurred to him that Xander had never seen Dorian undressed and sleep-rumpled like this. He looked adorable and  _ delectable _ , and he may have acted on his impulses if Alyx didn’t deliver a sharp pinch to his side when he let his eyes linger too long.

“You two are gross,” she teased.

“Says the pot, calling the kettle black,” Xander retorted, poking her in the ribs. “How’s Grier?”

“Exhausted,” Alyx answered with a triumphant smile. “This past week has been... _ taxing.” _

“Gross.” He reached out to ruffle her hair. She swatted at his hands, keeping him at arm’s length while he playfully poked at her sides. For once, he was glad for his superior height as she attempted to get him in a headlock while he continued to evade her. 

“Hold still so I can properly hit you!”

“You can  _ try _ ,” Xander riposted. 

Their horsing around was interrupted by the soft sound of a pillow hitting the door; “ _ Children! _ Go to your meeting or I will come out and separate you two!”

“Sorry, love,” Alyx called back sheepishly. “We should head down; Grier’s getting cranky.”

Xander laughed, tossing his arm around Alyx’s shoulder; “I can imagine; we have disturbed her beauty sleep.”

“Actually, freak’s a morning person,” Alyx said. “I am of the personal belief the world has no reason to rise before midday. All this morning sunshine business is unnatural.”

“Come on, then,” Xander sighed. “Back to business. We’ve had our fun.”

“And here I was just getting used to the lovely leisure time we were having!” Alyx ran her hands through her hair, trying to put it to rights after Xander mussed it, but it seemed useless. “Do you think Uncle Leopold and them are going to be at the War Table? He did say he wanted a pass at it.”

“Uncle Leopold, maybe,” Xander answered. “Probably not Gerhardt, Helena and Erik. From what I hear, they are preparing to head out soon.”

They crossed the main hall in silence; the staff was only just starting to rise for their morning duties and the mid-summer rain was driving most to sleep in. Only the rank-and-file seemed to be out and about, and they seemed content to simply nod at Xander and Alyx as they passed. A few mumbled ‘Inquisitor’ or ‘Chamberlain’, but other than that, they crossed through Josephine’s office to the War Room in relative quiet, which was a nice change of pace. Xander gazed into the garden, catching the eye of a few serving girls were crossing the sodden grass on their way to the kitchens. They placed their delicate hands to their lips and giggled when they spotted him. 

“Um, Alyx?” Xander asked, running his hand through his hair. 

“Yes, dear cousin?”

“Why are the serving girls giggling?”

Alyx followed his gaze, giving the girls a hard look. They immediately stopped giggling and returned to their duties, but they appeared to still be whispering conspiratorially to each other. 

“I’m pretty sure they’re just  _ enamored _ with the Inquisitor falling for the handsome Magister,” Alyx intoned with the absolute  _ worst _ Orlesian accent he’d ever heard. He swatted at her, but she neatly dodged his attempts. “In all seriousness, though, it is quite the romantic image.”

“I wish they wouldn’t stare.”

“Xander, the moment you--the Inquisitor--decided to begin romantic relations with a man from Tevinter, you were going to draw stares. The fact that you’re both beautiful--shut up, I can be objective--certainly contributes to the hype. Don’t be surprised if you and Dorian end up the stars of some ridiculous sex poem post-Halamshiral.”

“Oh please don’t even joke like that,” Xander begged, holding open the door to the War Room for her. 

“Who said I was joking?” Alyx retorted with a quirked brow. They were the among the last to arrive, and Alyx’s eyes were drawn to the other side of the room. Xander followed her gaze and saw the source of her smile. “Princess! You’re standing!”

“Under my own power too,” Emma bragged with a grin. She still looked pale, but she was standing without the aid of a crutch or the Prince’s arm, and she seemed inordinately proud. “Sebastian is probably happy for the opportunity to sleep late, I’m sure.”

“Why? Did you keep him up late last night?” Alyx teased with a wink. Emma flushed to her hairline and opened her mouth to answer, but they were all silenced with a gruff cough. 

“Ah, Uncle Leopold,” Xander said smoothly, attempting to bowl over the fact Alyx made a thinly-veiled reference to sex in front of Emma’s father. “Thank you for joining us.”

“I wasn’t aware your meetings were always so… animated,” Leopold said with a grin. 

“They aren’t,” Josephine replied with an indulgent roll of her eyes. “The Chamberlain is just being… herself.”

“I’m surprised they were able to pry her off Grier long enough to get her down here,” Leliana supplied archly, her mouth pulling up in a gentle smirk. 

“It’s my own fault for saying that we weren’t to be interrupted unless the world was ending… which, well, it is,” Alyx replied with a shrug. 

“As fun as all this is, I’d really like to get this underway,” Emma sighed, shifting her legs. “I may be upright under my own power, but it’s not comfortable.”

“Do you need anything, dove?” Leopold asked gently, setting a gentle hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“I’m fine, Father, but thank you,” Emma answered. “I’m a soldier--Gerhardt prepared you for something like this, I’m sure.”

“You’re never prepared to see your baby in pain, dove,” Leopold countered, pressing a kiss to Emma’s head. 

“Why  _ aren’t _ we getting underway?” Xander asked. “I assumed we were late.”

“You are,” Josephine said. “We are still waiting on the Commander and the Envoy.”

“Oh, are we?” Alyx said, raising an eyebrow.

“Iris and Cullen are never late,” Xander added. “Has anyone seen--”

He cut off when he heard a soft giggle from the other side of the heavy oak door. Alyx grinned widely, a mischievous glint in her eye as she brought a single finger to her lips. She tiptoed towards the door, hesitating for a moment with her hand on the knob as another giggle sounded. Then, with another grin over her shoulder, she flung the door wide open. 

Xander nearly choked at the scene before him--as much as he  _ suspected _ he interrupted something on the way home from Adamant, seeing it in broad daylight was so much  _ harder _ than he thought. Cullen was curled protectively over Iris, who had to stand on tiptoe to reach his lips. She grasped the metal collar of his breastplate while she pressed affectionate kisses against his smiling mouth. Cullen’s hands were cradling her hips gently, his fingers reflexively tightening in a move he  _ recognized _ , and knew the exact meaning of. He fought down the protective urge to bodily haul the Commander  _ away _ from his little sister and take him out back, like a big brother had divine right to do!

Thankfully, he didn’t need to, as Alyx had burst into wild, uncontrollable laughter. As soon as they were aware of their audience, Iris and Cullen leapt apart like they’d been burned. Cullen must have sensed Xander’s ire, because he wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone, while Iris busied herself smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of her bodice.

“Oh, are we late?”  

“Late?” Alyx said, an exaggerated expression of confusion on her face. “Iris, the meeting just  _ ended, _ where were you?”

Iris brought her hands up to her face and gasped. “Oh Maker! Oh I am so sorry, I thought...oh we missed the entire meeting?”

“Oh, Andraste’s Tits, Alyx, stop teasing her!” Xander snapped, trying to take some of the sting out of his voice. “And Iris, you’re a little late, but it’s not a big deal. We haven’t started yet.”

“Alyx, you are such an ass!” Iris growled indignantly. Cullen gave a fond little smile, raising his hand to brush against her bare neck, but one look from Xander had him dropping that hand like he’d been bitten.

_ He’s about to lose that hand! He doesn’t need two to train the armies! _

Alyx giggled uncontrollably. “Oh come on, you love me!”

Josephine made a noise under her breath that might be interpreted as a giggle; “Now that the… excitement is out of the way, perhaps we should start with the first item on the agenda?”

“I agree,” Xander snarled, shooting his best death glare at Cullen.  _ Teach HIM to lay a hand on my baby sister, why I ought to-- _

“The first order of business is the prisoner,” Emma said, picking up a piece of parchment. “He’s been in our cells for  _ how long _ now?”

“We thought it proper to hold off on judging him until we knew for sure if you would survive or not,” Cullen replied gravely. “It would have changed his list of charges greatly.”

“As it is, the Order is already asking for his head,” Josephine supplied. “To say nothing of justice you might personally require for what was suffered in the Fade.”

Xander ran his hand through his hair; a pall settled over the table as the elephant they’d been ignoring soundly trampled into the room; “I fail to see how judging him will make up for any of that. Chances are, he’s going to cling to Corypheus the whole time… cling to his godhood.”

“I’m going to say what no one else wants to,” Iris spoke up. “There is only one proper punishment...Tranquility.”

Emma gasped softly, pressing her hand to her breast; “Iris… that… that honestly surprises me.”

Alyx let out an unsteady breath. “It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone, and yet… If anyone has ever deserved that, it’s him.”

“He is an example of the worst of us,” Iris spoke clearly. “He is why we are feared, why people want to see us locked away. If we are to show that mages can be trusted, we need to be able to enact the highest punishment against those who would abuse their power.”

“He is what the Rite was meant for, not what it ended up becoming,” Cullen stated with a twinge of guilt in his voice. Iris stroked her fingers along his hand reassuringly.

“Somebody mark the calendar,” Alyx said. “I agree with the Commander.”

Xander chuckled under his breath; the lightness of the statement helped the heavy conversation as the tension was broken by the soft laughter. But Xander was too busy worrying to even be mad about the easy show of affection between Iris and Cullen; “There will be protests. There are people who won’t understand and will see my actions as brutal, or even savage.”

“I have a suggestion,” Cullen offered tentatively. “Fear comes from ignorance; so send one mage and one Templar. Veterans. It will remind them that  _ mages _ created the punishment to protect the rest.” 

“I suspect that the only reason it will appease them is because of the number of mages in the inner circle,” Emma muttered, her blue eyes hard. “Frankly, I’d see him  _ killed _ . Or shoved into the darkest  _ fucking _ hole we can find and never let him out.”

“He is unrepentant,” Xander countered. “To kill him is to make a martyr of him; to imprison him is to give him the opportunity to gather sympathy and sow dissent and rebellion.”

“Then we are in agreement,” Leliana said. It was not a question, and no one offered a single voice of opposition. “The judgement is decided, but we will judge him properly on the throne at your leisure. The more public this decision, the better.”

“His judgement  _ should  _ be public,” Iris agreed. “But the Rite itself should be a private one. Despite his actions, no one should have an audience present when they are cut off from who they were forever.”

“Agreed,” Xander replied. “Battlemaster, would you--”

“It would be my genuine pleasure,” Emma growled. “I’ll make sure to escort him to the Templars when the time comes, and I will inform Fiona as well. I think she deserves to know personally, so she doesn’t hear it through the grapevine.”

“Once Warden Commander Hawke arrives, I will make sure to tell him as well,” Cullen said. “The Wardens will want to know our decision so it doesn’t take them by surprise.”

Josephine made a note on her little pad, shifting some papers around uncomfortably before clearing her throat; “Now. Onto more pleasant business--the ball at Halamshiral.”

“How in the  _ world _ is this a more pleasant topic?” Cullen snarled, crossing his arms petulantly. 

Leliana giggled, high and musical; “The Commander is nervous he’s going to get accosted by the nobility. Again.”

“That bruise didn’t fade from my hips for  _ days _ , Leliana!” Cullen retorted with a rather precious blush. “ _ Days! _ From a pinch! Also, the idea of peace talks taking place at an Orlesian ball... It’s madness.”

“It’s how Orlais does things,” Leopold said quietly. Xander near jumped--he’d forgotten Uncle Leopold was still present.

“Regardless, we have been tragically isolated from the Empire up until this point,” Josephine sighed. “The Inquisitor’s efforts in Orlais have been sporadic at best, and undone almost immediately by the war. My thought is to present a united front--I have a preliminary design for uniforms to wear to the ball.”

Bless Josephine, but it wasn’t a bad idea. To present themselves as a united, military organization would benefit them in a lot of ways, and would excuse any fashion faux pas that may be made. However, when she placed the sketch on the table, Xander nearly  _ balked _ . Red, fitted coats; primary-blue sashes; golden leather… 

Three simultaneous voices raised sharply; “ _ No! _ ” Emma, Iris and Alyx seemed to be  _ against _ the uniforms.

“I’m not wearing that,” Emma added flatly. “And you can’t make me.”

“You cannot be serious!” Iris exclaimed indignantly. “I’d rather be seen in mage robes again.”

“That might actually be  _ worse _ than having to wear a corset,” Alyx added.

Josephine pulled a face at the design; “Oh, thank the Maker. I thought it was awful too, but I’d already commissioned the man--”

“I told you not to go with  _ Monsieur Pompadeu.  _ The man has been grotesquely out of touch since he declared actual bells the height of ladies’ fashion,” Leliana giggled.

“My wife is in touch with a few up-and-comers,” Leopold offered. 

“Mother is tragically obsessed with her wardrobe,” Emma said. 

“Yes, I think custom gowns and finery would be best,” Leliana added. “Lord Trevelyan--oh, forgive me Inquisitor, the other one--how soon can you put us in touch with the best ones?”

“I can have Emilie write to them today,” Leopold answered. “You should have quotes and preliminary designs within the week.”

“Custom gowns?” Alyx asked with a hint of trepidation in her voice. “If it has a corset, I  _ will  _ go naked.”

“You don’t have to wear a corset if you don’t want to,” Xander chuckled. “I imagine that’s where the ‘custom’ part comes in.”

“Although, you would certainly make quite the splash, eh, Alyx?” Emma asked with a waggle of her eyebrows. “It would be a  _ memorable _ evening, if nothing else.”

“Do not encourage her!” Iris pleaded with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure I can make it memorable even with all my clothes on,” Alyx said with a grin.

“You’ll need to figure out the dances and in fashion etiquette at the Winter Palace for the season,” Leopold said. “Emilie and I can help.”

“And Sebastian and I both have formal dance experience,” Emma added with a pointed look at Alyx. “At least, that we’ve retained. We can certainly help with lessons.”

Alyx scrunched her nose. “Do we have to?”

“Oh come on Alyx, aren’t you looking forward to waltzing in front of the Orlesian nobility with your lady love?” Iris said grabbing her cousin's hands and attempting to drag her into a spontaneous waltz.

“I can think of  _ other _ things I’d rather do with Grier in front of the Orlesian Court.”

“Not while you’re holding my hands, you’re not!”

“ _ Sparrow! Little duck! _ ” Leopold sighed. “Must you be so crass?”

“It’s like he forgot who we are,” Iris said with a pout.

“I know it’s easy to forget with all the extraneous middle names we have, but ‘crass’ is definitely one of them,” Alyx added.

“And let’s not forget that your third name is ‘Fight Me’” Iris supplied with a snicker.

“The only middle name that matters!”

Emma sighed dramatically; “Father, do you  _ see  _ what I put up with? Barbarians, the lot of them!”

“Excuse me, but wasn’t it your idea to sing  _ Antivan Lady _ while barefoot and drunk?” Iris retorted with her hands on her hips.

“Alright, I know everyone is  _ very _ excited to be smooching someone right now,” Xander groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “But can we please change the subject?”

“Only one more matter to attend to,” Leliana said. “And it is short; I have agents tracking the movements of both of Corypheus’s generals. Calpernia is in contact with a merchant in Val Royeaux. I can dispatch agents to check on her operations, unless you want to check on them personally?”

“No, agents should suffice,” Xander said. “I trust you. And Samson?”

“No word of him,” Cullen answered. “But there have been reports of extra Red Lyrium shipments through the Emerald Graves; it could be worth looking into. We have soldiers and agents in the area.”

“Do it,” Xander said. “Anything else?”

“We’re still waiting to hear back on why Corypheus would want to investigate Elven Ruins,” Leliana said. “But until I have more information, that’s all I can say.”

“Then we are adjourned for now,” Xander declared. “I will call if I need anything.”

“Excellent,” Emma sighed, gathering her reports. 

“Oh, Emma,” Josephine interjected. “If you’re going to see Prince Sebastian, could you please bring him his correspondence? I have quite a bit of it, and he won’t come fetch it.”

“Oh, by all means,” Emma answered. “Nothing makes a man squirm quite like his responsibilities.”

“Dove, I know you’re joking, but please don’t,” Leopold chuckled. “I’d rather you not make  _ any _ references to men squirming in your presence.”

Xander grinned, watching people file out and enjoying his moment of solitude. He leaned over the map, following the coastlines and idly wondering if he should pop in and and do some Inquisitor business before the ball. The Graves wouldn’t be a bad place--he’d always wanted to see that part of Orlais, and he could investigate Samson at the same time. It was a win-win situation--especially when he considered that he would have Dorian at his side. It was a pale imitation of the courtship he longed to accomplish, but it was something. 

“Inquisitor,” a soft voice declared from the entrance to the War Room. One of the soldiers stood at sharp attention in the open doorway. “Apologies, I thought your meeting was still underway. Have you seen the Commander?”

“He just left,” Xander replied. “Is there anything I can help with? I  _ am _ the Inquisitor--I’ve been known to actually do a thing now and again.”

The soldier snorted through a poorly concealed chuckle; “Apologies, Your Worship. I have reports from the Fallow Mire that require review; and the scouts have reported a contingent of Wardens approach Skyhold.”

“Thank you--?”

“Renner,” she said. “Elissa Renner, of Ostwick.”

“My family is from Ostwick,” Xander exclaimed.

“Yes. I was actually under Lord Edward’s employ for some time,” Renner replied with an easy grin. “I requested transfer after the Gallows fell--I no longer felt the Marches were safe.”

“Well, I’m glad you found your way to us, Renner,” Xander said. “I take it you have been treated well thus far? I’m afraid I can’t quite mingle among the rank-and-file as often as I’d like.”

“Everything has been wonderful, Worship,” Renner answered, a light flush tinging her freckled cheeks. “I mean… it’s just been such a wonderful opportunity, and… Apologies, Inquisitor.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” Xander chuckled. 

“I should return to my duties, Worship,” Renner said with a sharp salute. “Thank you for this. Truly.”

Xander nodded as the guardswoman turned on her heel and marched out of the War Room. Xander sighed, flipping the letter over in his hands and cracking the seal with his thumb and forefinger. The report was clinical and simple--to the point facts. The contents, however, made his insides grow cold. 

_ I have to find Cullen! _

~~~

“Are you sure, Emma?” Grier asked, clutching the bottle of oil in her hands. 

“Completely,” Emma answered. “I’ve basically taken to stockpiling the stuff, and I have more of it then I’ll ever know what to do with. Just rub a little bit into your hair after you wash it and it dries perfect, I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve been wondering how she got her hair that luxurious,” Hawke mused with a wry grin. “I always assumed ‘the blood of her enemies,’ but the solution was so  _ simple _ .”

“And less messy,” said a gruff voice from the door to the Rest. 

A young, broad man took up most of the entryway. His dark hair was swept into a messy knot atop his head, his beard was scruffy, and his blue Warden armor was spattered with road grime. Hawke must have recognized the man, because she squealed like a girl and flung herself at him. 

“ _ Carver! _ ” She fairly launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a bruising hug. 

“Good to see you too, sister,” the man named Carver admonished, extricating himself from Hawke’s arms. “I figured you’d be halfway to Rivain by now.”

“Why Rivain?” Hawke asked innocently. “Just curious.”

Carver narrowed his eyes--dove grey, like his sister’s--and ruffled her hair; “Seemed an obscure enough location they wouldn’t run you out on principle?”

Emma snorted under her breath while the Hawke siblings argued--if that was Carver, that meant the Wardens had arrived and her workload was about to double. There were dozens of Warden mages to be brought into the fold. As she mentally calculated training schedules and exercise regimes, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. 

“He’s cute,” Erik purred, waggling his eyebrows at her. “He looks familiar--do we know him?”

“That is Warden Commander Carver Hawke,” Emma admonished, poking him in the ribs. “And he is  _ off limits _ , Erik!”

“Aww,” Erik pouted. “But  _ why? _ He’s adorable, with his little man bun and his scruff...I  _ promise _ I’ll be good!”

“Call him adorable, and see how far it gets you,” Emma muttered. She remembered reading  _ Tale of the Champion; _ while Carver didn’t play a huge role in the story, from what she remembered, Carver was a bit on the taciturn side. 

“Can’t I flirt with him just a  _ little _ ?” Erik pleaded. “I  _ promise _ when he says no, I’ll back off!”

“You’re being realistic enough to accept that he will absolutely reject you,” Emma retorted. “And will my disapproval stop you in any way, shape, or form?”

“No.”

“Then by all means, go for it.” Emma made a sweeping gesture at the Warden with her arm. “But I promise, you will live to regret it.”

Hawke led Carver back to the table, and there were introductions all around. He shot a suspicious look at Blackwall, but otherwise, Carver seemed a decent sort. Erik planted himself firmly in the seat next to him and  _ immediately _ turned on his most tried-and-true methods. 

_ Oh, he’s in top form. If Carver is even remotely interested, he won’t be able to say no for long. _

“Well, Hawke,” Fenris muttered affectionately, nuzzling his nose against her temple as she took her seat. “Carver’s here. Now seems a good a time as any?” 

“To do what?” Iris asked, canting her head at the pair. 

“Oh, right! Of course,” Hawke said, slapping the meat of her palm into her forehead. “I’ve been waiting to announce it, but Prince Sebastian has officially offered Fenris and me positions in his court--we’re planning on leaving for Starkhaven within the next few days.”

“Also?” Fenris prompted. 

“Oh, also, I’m pregnant,” she finished with a grin. 

The table exploded into activity. Varric got this affectionate look that Emma would file away for later blackmail; most everyone else present devolved into congratulations and questions about how far along she was. Hawke’s keen interest in Helena suddenly made sense--Helena was at the end of her pregnancy and probably answered all of Hawke’s burning questions. 

Erik put two very reverent hands on Hawke’s still-flat belly, nodding somberly; “Ah, yes. It’s twins. I’m a twin, and I can tell.”

“I’m a twin too,” Carver protested with an arched brow. “And I can’t tell--so that means you’re just being an arse.”

“Oh, you’re a twin?” Erik asked, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. He shot a coquettish wink in Carver’s direction, making the Warden blush to his hairline. “I guess we have something in common, sweet thing.”

Hawke burst into breathless laughter at the look of  _ utter _ astonishment on her brother’s face; Carver, sadly, didn’t get a chance to recover as Zane decided to get in on the action. At that point, it was a competition, Carver was beet-red with embarrassment, and things were getting a touch raucous for Emma’s taste. With a polite nod, she gathered her papers and departed the Rest. 

She shuffled the bundle of correspondences in her hands, staring at the golden-wax seal of Starkhaven. She should have delivered it upon her dismissal from the War Table. She didn’t know why--she couldn’t shake this odd sense of dread and anxiety when it came to her relationship with Sebastian. Maybe it was the careful distance at which he kept her, despite his affection. Maybe it was just her mind getting in the way of her happiness. Again. 

Either way, when she approached his suites, she was surprised to find the door open. Sebastian had an eastern-facing room, and the direct sunlight made it  _ hot _ . Every window had been thrown open in an attempt to catch a breeze. He was lounging on the chaise, his linen shirt open to his chest. His head was back, his eyes closed, as the book he’d been reading lay forgotten on his lap. She swallowed hard when she took in the mussed state of his hair, the tight cords of muscle in his throat, the glisten on his golden-brown skin… 

“If you stare any harder, I fear I may burst into flames, sweetheart.”

Emma flushed, shifting from foot to foot; “You have the wrong Trevelyan if you’re looking for flames.”

“That’s true,” Sebastian sighed, turning his  _ devastating _ gaze on her. He smiled that special, private smile that was just for her--the one that softened his whole gaze and warmed his eyes and made her feel like she was the only person in the whole wide world. He crooked his finger, beckoning her to him, and she found she was powerless to resist. She plucked up his wine glass, wrinkling her nose when she found it warm. She applied careful magic to the sides until the cold condensed on the glass. 

“Here,” she offered, handing him the chilled wine and settling down next to him. 

He sipped his drink and sighed with contentment; “That’s a useful trick; I knew I liked you for some reason.”

She made a mock-indignant sound, swatting him on the arm; “Keep that up and you’ll never know what it is to be warm again!”

“In this heat, that is less a threat than you’d think,” Sebastian purred, leaning into her shoulder. She’d never seen him this affectionate before, and she shivered when his idly ran his fingers over the swell of her hip. Despite the heat, she wanted to press further into his side; she wanted him to curl around her and press her into--

“I brought something for you,” she said a little too quickly, handing him the bundle of papers. “Your correspondences from Starkhaven.”

“Why did you have to spoil such a perfect moment?” Sebastian asked dramatically, cracking open the wax seals and unfurling the parchments. “I suppose being a Prince doesn’t stop even when the world is going to the Void.”

“Troop movements and trade manifests aren’t how you want to spend a fine summer day?” Emma teased with a poke in his side. “Frankly, your Highness, I’m shocked.”

“Oh, don’t you start,” he muttered, neatly dodging her efforts without once taking his eyes from his papers. “And thank the Maker, I have military advisors for all that. No, most of these are proposals for marriage.”

Emma felt a curl of disquiet unfurl in her stomach; “Oh.”

He didn’t seem to hear her; “I swear, if I read one more proposal full of nothing but frippery, I might rip out what remains of my hair. How in the  _ world _ is a woman’s ability to draw fruit any indication of the type of princess she’d make? Although, other than that, this one looks promising.”

“Sebastian,” Emma prompted, pushing away from him slightly. “I thought… I thought you were sure. About us.”

He finally looked up from his damn letters and smiled, pressing a kiss into her temple; “I am, sweetheart. But I do have to get married; it’s my duty to produce heirs for Starkhaven.”

She felt as if he’d slapped her; “So… you’re still going to get married?”

“Of course I am,” Sebastian explained. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought… I mean, I was sure we--”

She swallowed hard, her eyes glancing down at the proposal in his hand:  _ Lady Jenna Tarrisande; skilled in drawing, singing, harpsichord, pianoforte, dancing; sixth non-mage generation-- _

_ This is what he seeks; this is what he wants. _

“What about love, Sebastian?” Emma asked, feeling dangerous tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. 

“Not all of us are lucky enough to love the person we marry,” he answered. “It’s my duty to cement Starkhaven’s future by getting married and produce heirs. It’s what I have to do.”

Emma held up a hand to stop him, extricating herself from his arms; “So what is this, then? Hm? What are we?”

“Emma--”

“That was a rhetorical question, Sebastian! Because the answer is pretty obvious to me! I clearly don’t mean that much to you!”

“Emma, that’s not fair!” Sebastian retorted. “You mean so much to me! How can you say--”

“So you will marry your new wife, swear before Andraste and the Maker and Starkhaven that you will honor and cherish her till death do you part, and keep me as one of your  _ whores _ on the side?” Emma snapped. His crumpled expression told her  _ everything _ she needed to know. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I won’t be another broken vow to you, Sebastian!”

He reacted as if she’d hit him; “Excuse me?”

Anger blazed in his eyes as he stood, drawing himself to full height. He was trying to intimidate her, and she wouldn’t let him; “You heard me! You once told me that you were  _ sure _ about us! You told me you wanted to give us a  _ chance _ , and you’re still hearing proposals from other women!”

“You  _ can’t _ ask me to abandon my duty, Emma!” Sebastian shouted. “Because I won’t! I won’t see Starkhaven burn because I faltered! I am a Prince and I must--”

“Oh,  _ excuse me _ , Highness,” she sneered, dropping into a mock curtsey. 

“Don’t be childish,” he growled. “Emma, this isn’t fair!”

“Well I have news for you, oh mighty Prince of Starkhaven!  _ Life isn’t fair! _ And I won’t be one of your… flings!”

She tried to look anywhere but his wounded eyes, or his furious expression, but the only place to look that wasn’t him was his writing desk. Proposals littered the surface, and one qualifier kept jumping out at her. 

_ Lady Marcia Durand; fourth non-mage generation _

_ Lady Alyssa Laurent; ninth non-mage generation _

_ Lady Serena Confortola; sixth non-mage generation _

_ He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want my magic or my history or my shaky title. I was nothing to him. _

“I won’t be a distraction,” she grumbled with a sense of finality. 

“If you honestly think so little of me,” he growled back. She tried to ignore the gutted quality of his voice. “Perhaps it’s best if we air all this out before one of us gets too… attached.”

“So this is it then? So much for a chance.”

“That’s  _ not _ what this is about, Emma!” Sebastian yelled. “ _ You _ forced this! I was only  _ considering _ this and you attacked me! You  _ know _ I haven’t been that man in a long time, and yet you use him against me!”

“And you can’t even see what this does to me, Sebastian! How much it hurts to see the man I--” 

_ The man I love… when did this happen? When did I grow to love him?  _

She clutched her necklace in her fist while he stared at her, wide-eyed and furious and  _ heartbroken _ . She saw that schism in him--the divide between the Prince who longed to do his duty, the Brother who longed for days of peace, and the man who wanted things to be simple again. But nothing was simple, and she wouldn’t let it go. 

“I can’t do this, Sebastian,” she said simply. Clinically. Like she was telling him that water was wet.

“Emma,  _ don’t _ ,” he pleaded. “Either tell me what’s bothering you and let me fix this, or get out.”

The room was so quiet, she could honestly  _ hear _ the crystalline shattering sounds of her heart breaking. He wouldn’t look at her. His back was turned, and the line of his shoulders spoke of something beyond rage. This was Prince Sebastian--the man who expected to be obeyed at a word. This was not the kind man she’d come to know and love in the past months. Her hands darted to the back of her neck, working the clasp of her necklace. She dropped the delicate silver charm on the table before turning on her heel and fleeing, not bothering to fight her tears. 

_ It was a beautiful dream, though. He was a beautiful dream. _

~~~

_ Go after her, you fool! _

The moment he heard the little silver trinket touch the table, he  _ knew _ . He could feel his heart breaking; her departure left a void he hadn’t been aware of. It was familiar--it was what came with loss. Part of him--the part that wasn’t spitting mad--cried out to her. To come back. To stay. To apologize. 

The rest of him wanted to hate her. The rest of him wanted to call her all sorts of names, the kindest being ‘maleficar,’ and scream and shout and  _ make _ her understand. It was that part of him that drove him to rage and vengeance when Hawke refused to kill Anders. It was that part that, many years ago, would have driven him to the brothel with a full purse and an itch to scratch. 

He took several deep breaths, trying to convince himself he wasn’t falling apart. The ice on the side of his wineglass was starting to melt; he sat and watch the condensation pool on polished wood, trickling over the delicate silver chain of her necklace. He clutched the little pendant in his fist, asking himself where he would go from there? What was his next step?

He flopped back onto the chaise, leaning into the pillow she’d been using, and breathed deep. Her slightly spicy, slightly floral scent clung to it. The honeysuckle she used in her hair was so strong, it was near intoxicating. He wouldn’t allow himself to cry. Or grieve. 

His only course of action--the only acceptable way forward--was to make a plan. 


	39. Chapter 39

It was odd to see them go. They’d scarcely been there a few months, and already, Hawke and Fenris were starting to feel like permanent members—like friends. And yet, it was fitting. Bittersweet—it was a bittersweet departure. 

Hawke was currently teasing Varric _mercilessly_ over an apparent show of emotion, and Sebastian and Fenris were talking with heads bent low. Considering Emma’s family would be leaving while he was at the Fallow Mire, it truly did feel like something was ending—like they were moving onto a new phase. 

Hawke came up to him with a shy grin, holding out her arms for a hug. Xander swept his arms around her, trying to be gentle; “Have I mentioned how happy I am for you?”

“You could stand to mention it more,” Hawke quipped. “You know, it’s weird, but we’re going to miss this place. I’m going to miss Fenris being at my beck and call, anyway. He’s going to be a bit busy in Starkhaven.”

“Something tells me that man will always be at your beck and call, Hawke,” Xander replied. “Do you have everything you need for the journey?”

“More than what we need,” Hawke said. “But there’s something _you_ need.”

Hawke handed him a slip of paper, folded neatly. Xander canted his head in askance; “Alright, I’m stumped. Is this… what, is it a joke?”

“Perfectly reasonable to assume, given you’re dealing with me,” Hawke chuckled. “But no, it’s not a joke. I heard a little rumor that Corypheus is excavating Elven ruins, and you might need a Dalish expert. I know someone who can help and will absolutely be willing. You can trust her.”

“So I just need to get in contact with her and, what, she’ll come running?”

“Probably not,” Hawke said with a shrug. “Which is why I already wrote her. She should be here soon—give her a few months, tops.”

“Thanks, Hawke,” Xander said. “Have a safe trip, alright?”

“Will do,” she replied with a mock salute. “Oh, and my name is Marian.”

~~~

Dorian had never been grateful for his bouts of insomnia. 

While the blistering, sticky, thick-aired heat reminded him so much of the Imperium, it was the one thing about home he didn’t miss. That, and the fact that the castle got too quiet for his nerves at night. He tended to hear every scurry and scitter as something ( _or someone_ ) lurking in the dark, and it set his teeth on edge. Combined with being sweaty without the fun that often accompanies the state, he found himself rather miserable. So he did what he was wont to do on nights such as this—he wandered. 

As usual, he found himself in the main throne room. Most days, it was fit to burst with activity—servants, craftsmen, nobility, soldiers, friends and even Xander were bustling about the place, always with some place to be. When it was quiet, it gave Dorian time to ponder… time to think. As per usual, he tried his best _not_ to think of the oncoming apocalypse; he tried listing Tevinter vintages or Grand Enchanters of the Minrathous circle. Any dry subject would do. He even tried going through the old mnemonics his nannies would teach him to learn the old families when he was a boy; that sort of backfired, however, as when he got to Trevelyan, he heated all over again.

One thing was for certain—he’d never been _kissed_ before… at least, not how Xander did it. He sort of took over the kiss, dominating and gentle and giving all at the same time. He was teeth and tongue and soft lips and so _fucking_ beautiful. Not to mention he was so tall… he’d never been with a boy that tall before. He sometimes literally _burned_ for Xander, and yet part of him longed to savor it. Part of him wanted to beg that beautiful man to spread him out over the nearest soft surface, rolling into him until he couldn’t remember how his legs worked; but then that dark part that was always _realistic_ told him that once Xander had what he was looking for, once they had their fun, it would be over. 

He wrapped his arms around himself, remembering the beautiful men—the ones he’d wanted to beg for… the ones he wanted to keep and hold and have—leaving him. He’d watched too many walk away from him to know he never wanted to be on the receiving end of that treatment again. Unfortunately, it appeared that he was past the point where he could just have his fun and walk away from the Inquisitor. Every day he’d watch that beautiful man cross the courtyard, swinging his massive sword in the training yards, talking and laughing with his companions for even just the rank-and-file, and it got harder and harder to continue to say no to him. Saying no to sharing his bed, to taking meals and baths together, spending leisure time together... it was getting to be impossible. 

_Fasta vass, Pavus, get your shit together! Next thing you know, you’re going to start making calf eyes at puppies!_

He found himself at the Inquisitor’s door. Xander would be asleep—he was scheduled to leave for Fallow Mire in the morning. But… what would the harm be in poking his head in? What if he was having trouble sleeping? What if he needed Dorian’s help? 

_What if he’s spread out over that big bed with his hand between his legs, screaming my name? What if—_

Nope. Dorian shook himself, casting off the fantasy and pressing his forehead against the door. The rivets dug into his skin, grounding him, and the metal was cool against his overheated skin. Something needed to happen, though. If it didn’t, Dorian was positive the fantasies and the stray daydreams and waking up _aching_ for Xander would likely kill him before Corypheus and his Archdemon ever got the chance. 

Dorian’s musings were interrupted by a familiar sound—the strange lightning crackle of… was that the Anchor? Was there a rift in Xander’s room? That would be… odd. And dangerous. Without thought for _why_ the anchor could be going off, he burst through the door, lingering at the foot of the stairs. Green lightning flared again, this time, accompanied with a pained grunt and a panicked gasp. He didn’t announce himself, or call to Xander; Dorian just launched himself up the stairs two at a time. As he ascended, the lightning grew louder, more frequent. 

“Stop!” Xander muttered. Dorian chose to ignore the fact the man was _talking_ to the anchor and instead, crested the stairs. Xander was pressed against his headboard, his hand held out like he was physically trying to escape it. It flared at irregular intervals, and every time it burst brighter and longer. With every flare, Xander would cry out; tears were running from his wide, terrified eyes. 

“Xander!” Dorian exclaimed, rushing towards the bed. 

“Stay back!” Xander shouted, cutting off his command with a strangled sob. “Oh, Maker, it’s not stopping!”

Dorian, ignoring his command, slid onto the mattress next to him. His back muscles were drawn taut in his panic, and he was trembling like a leaf; “Does it hurt?”

“It’s not stopping,” he cried again, wailing when it flared anew. “Please, Dorian! Please make it stop!”

“You have to calm down,” Dorian commanded, running his hands over Xander’s sweaty back. He was drawing in deep, panicked gasps, but his face was red, like he wasn’t getting enough air. “You’re hyperventilating, Xander. Please; deep breaths. You can do it. Slow down.”

It didn’t work. Xander leaned into the touch, and while Dorian was speaking the flares stopped, but the moment he was quiet, the Anchor would return with a vengeance. He doubled over his marked hand, clutching his wrist, whimpering under his breath. _Make it stop! Please, make it stop!_

Dorian did the only thing he could think of; he curled protectively around Xander, running his knuckles up and down Xander’s sides and hips. And he sang. He remembered a lullaby his mother taught him, back when he was young. It was all in Tevene, and in all honesty, the lyrics were a bit silly when translated, but it seemed to work. Dorian reached around, pressing his hand against Xander’s bare chest, and feeling that rabbit heartbeat slow under his palms. Xander’s breathing began to slow, and finally, the anchor went quiet. 

“Better?” Dorian asked, brushing Xander’s long hair aside to press a kiss against the back of his neck. “Xander?” 

“Better,” he sighed, leaning against Dorian’s chest. “Thank you.”

“What happened?”

“I…” Xander cut off with a strangled sob, and for a heartstopping moment, he feared the anchor might come back to life. “I had a nightmare. I haven’t thought of Lord...Lord Moreau in a long time.”

“Lord Moreau?” Dorian asked, not quite understanding. 

“Orlesian nobility. He’s a friend of my mother’s,” Xander answered flatly, tensing under Dorian’s hands. He still wouldn’t show his face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Dorian assured softly, running his hands through Xander’s hair. “But you have to be up so early in the morning; do you need anything from me?”

“Just stay with me?” Xander asked, and there was a heartbreaking catch in his voice. “Please, Dorian, I… I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh, _Amatus,_ ” Dorian whispered, letting the endearment slip. He tensed for a moment, waiting for the rebuff. When it never came, he gathered Xander into his arms, settling them against the pillows. “You only _ever_ need ask.”

Despite the heat, Dorian couldn’t complain when Xander curled around him, burrowing his face into Dorian’s neck. He held onto him tightly for a time, his breath still shuddering, until gradually his arms loosened and he drifted off. Dorian fought sleep for the first few moments, just listening to that steady breathing and easy heartbeat under his ear. He knew it for certain now—walking away would be impossible now. 

He was falling in love, and he didn’t know what that meant. 

~~~

Emma figured a few moments in the practice yard couldn’t hurt—worst case scenario, she would savage a few dummies and Cullen and Cassandra would be mad until they could get replacements. She figured the heat would drive most people inside, or possibly to the small mountain lake she’d discovered not too long ago. As it turned out, she was _mostly_ right. She came to the practice yard just before the sun crested the surrounding walls. And yet, the heat blazed within. It was so hot, Emma could feel her thin, linen shirt stick to her back and the most strenuous thing she’d done all day was wrestle her hair into a braid. 

Yet the summer stickiness couldn’t banish one _frustratingly_ diligent man. Sebastian stood in the center of the training yard, fifty paces from the nearest practice butt. A quiver full of arrows stood at his side, and his Starkhaven bow was clasped in his big hands. She thought she’d seen her share of fair archers. Sebastian was on a whole other level—he made it look easy. He sank arrow after arrow into the very center of the target like he was three paces away. His blue eyes were intense, shining in the sunlight. Most frustrating of all, though, was the Prince’s state of undress. Stripped to his breeches, the broad expanse of his bare back could only be considered sinful. She followed the trail of freckles across his strong shoulders. She wanted to make a map of his perfect skin… 

Because despite the fact she was spitting mad with him, she couldn’t deny the fact he was _beautiful_. And she hated him for it. She should have coughed. Or shifted. Perhaps snapped a twig. But all she could do was stare, and take in the flex of muscle and the draw of shoulder blades; take in the slight bulge in his bicep as he fought the draw of his bow. He was so focused—so single minded—she sort of forgot he was a rogue. 

“You can come out, you know,” he said, unleashing his arrow. He used his suddenly free hand to brush his curls back from his forehead—and it did curl at the nape of his neck. She wasn’t sure if she prefered the neatly-combed locks or this mussed, sweaty version. 

_I need to stop thinking like that; I have been caught spying_. 

“How did you know?” Emma asked, stepping out of the shadows. 

“Paranoia does marvelous things for your awareness,” he replied dryly. He plucked another arrow from the quiver, drawing it back and letting it fly. She felt a _little_ gratified when it landed just a bit shy of the tight grouping on the bull’s eye. “How may I help you, Battlemaster?”

She felt a bit stung at his use of her title, considering not a week ago, it had been ‘sweetheart.’ But she pushed down the feeling, swallowing the sick curl of pain burning in the back of her throat; “I just came to use the practice yard; I was not aware you were using it. Forgive my intrusion.”

“You are far from intruding,” he said, sweeping his arm over to the empty melee ring. “You are free to use the remainder of the yard.”

Emma rolled her eyes; “If his Highness is practicing his archery, he is likely to draw an audience. I thank your indulgence, but I will have to decline.”

He scowled at her, and she couldn’t quite fight the smug grin at his discomfort. 

_See how he likes being referred to as nothing more than a title!_

“Perhaps you should stay then, Battlemaster,” he said tightly. “There is a possibility there could be a contest with your bowmen; you could be witness to my inevitable victory.”

“Oh, you seem so confident, _your Highness,_ ” she spat with a mock curtsey. “You’re so sure of your victory over every archer in the Inquisition?”

“I would be, if the prize were worth my time,” he replied smugly. She didn’t realize he’d moved closer to her, and he fairly _towered_. 

“And what prize _would_ be worth your time?” Emma asked, her voice far too breathy and low for her liking. 

He leaned into her space until she could smell his bow resin and his sweat and his citrusy soap—until she could see the burst of darker blue next to his pupil and follow the gentle curve of his lip. Her breath was too uneven—he was too close, and that smirk was _too much_. She felt like a frightened rabbit caught in the gaze of a fox, and she realized she couldn’t run if she tried. 

“Perhaps a kiss?” Sebastian purred, dark and low. No. Not a purr. A _growl_ —deep, guttural, and low. Possessive. She shuddered visibly, and yet she refused to tear her eyes away from his gaze. She had to leave! She had to collect herself! 

“Good luck finding someone willing, present company included,” she tried to spit with enough bile to _burn_. But it came out with too much waver—too low, too full of desire… 

“Something tells me I won’t have trouble with that.”

 _Maker_ , she still wanted him! She wanted to rail and scream at the same time she wanted to throw herself into his arms and whisper that all was forgiven. But she couldn’t forget the things he said—the things he _did_. She couldn’t forget him basically throwing her out when she _dared_ to disagree with him. 

“I need—” she said haltingly. “I have to—”

“What?” he pressed, his hand suspended between them. “What do you need, _Emma_?”

The sound of her name on his lips sent heat blazing to her fingertips, flushing her face to her hairline and the tips of her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out all of _him_. He was too much… she needed his touch too much. She turned away, ready to flee back into the castle. 

“Emma, wait!” Sebastian’s hand closed over her wrist, holding gently but firmly. It stopped her short; his callused hands on her skin lanced through her like magefire. She drew in a sharp breath, letting herself be pulled back to him. He was so _tall_ , and his hands were so gentle despite the bowman’s calluses and he smelled _so good_. She near wept at his proximity, but the lump in her throat was not from sadness. 

Her heart raced as the hand on her wrist gentled; the other hand came up to cradle her cheek. She felt a thrill when she saw his chest heave and the flutter of his pulse at the base of his throat. He was just as affected by her. The whole world narrowed to those fingertips on her skin. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up expectantly, even though she expected him to step away from her. 

But no. 

He stepped closer. She could feel his blistering heat through her clothes; a soft, traitorous sound of _want_ escaped through her parted lips. He was closer again, nearly pressed against her, and now both hands were curled around her jaw. She held her breath as she felt him shift and, finally, his lips brushed against hers. 

She was sure he would have kept it chaste; she was _positive_ he would have pulled away with a smart-arse remark about how he won his kiss, but he didn’t. He made a sound in his throat that _gutted_ her, and she surged forward. She sunk her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled, angling his head the way she wanted. He moaned, which had the delicious side effect of parting those perfect lips. The tip of his tongue snuck out to taste along her bottom lip, asking for entry, and she let it. 

Just like that, he took control. He pulled her flush against him until his muscled leg was shoved between her thighs, one arm bracketed around her waist. His free hand had her braid wound around his fingers. His kiss was bruising. Unforgiving. _Perfect_. She could have stood there being kissed for ages, allowing him to explore every inch of her mouth, letting his heat sear into her until there was nothing left. She loved his taste. She loved his _smell_. 

She was dying. Of that she was sure. She was dying—immolating from the inside out. Burning and floating and she didn’t _care_. She interlocked her fingers over the back of his neck, feeling those perfect teeth nibble at the seams of her mouth; he swallowed her tiny, mewling cries, and she revelled in his perfect, uninhibited groans when she canted her hips against him. 

Ironically, it was the sudden cloud of lust that made her think clearly. The kiss felt _amazing_ , but it was _wrong_. They’d ended their...association, because he needed someone who could promise a future. He needed a Princess. And she couldn’t be that person for him. She imagined his perfect bride, laughing and delicate and demure with nary a trace of magic in her blood. She saw that perfect woman in her mind, and she _hated_ her, because Andraste preserve her but she loved Sebastian so much. 

She yanked herself back, putting one. Two. Three paces of space between them. His lips were swollen and his eyes were dark with desire and his fingers twitched for want of her skin on his. She could empathize with the feeling. 

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” she muttered, dropping into a low curtsey. She hid her eyes so he wouldn’t see her heart breaking. Again. “But I must go.”

“Emma, wait—”

She neatly dodged his attempt to grab her again, because if he touched her it would be over. She wouldn’t be able to deny him—or herself—any longer. She had to get away. 

“We both know I can’t stay, Sebastian,” she said sadly. “I can’t be what you need.”

~~~

Emma knocked on Alyx’s door, feeling sweaty, overheated, and crabby. She crossed her arms and resisted the urge to pout… and failed. 

“Alyx! Untie your girlfriend for five seconds! I need to talk to you!”

The door swung open to reveal Alyx rolling her eyes. “Give me two seconds to get to the door, would you?”

“I’m _not_ in the mood, Alyx,” Emma snapped. “I just need to hit something. Would Grier mind if I borrowed you for a bit?”

“I’m all yours, Princess,” Alyx said with a grin. “Grier’s getting the tour of the library from Iris; they could be hours.”

Emma made a noise under her breath; “Great. So you want to go hit something? Preferably far away from Skyhold—because if it’s not, I’m going to punch the Prince right in his perfect teeth.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Alyx asked, brows drawing together slightly.

Emma couldn’t fight the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes, or the catch in her voice; “He’s getting married.”

“He’s— _what now?”_ Alyx exclaimed.

Emma looked imploringly up at her cousin, feeling so fucking _small_ and weak and helpless. She wanted to curl up on the bed and cry until she couldn’t cry anymore, but she _wouldn’t_. She refused; “Can...can we talk?”

“Of course,” Alyx said, stepping aside and gesturing for Emma to come in. 

Without ceremony, she flopped down into Alyx’s chair, burying her face in her hands, and she told Alyx everything. From their conversation to the list of women who were six generations and counting with non-mages—to his _duty_ , to her feeling of betrayal, all the way to her leaving the pendant on his writing desk as he threw her out. She was near sobbing by the end, and to Alyx’s credit, she listened the whole time. 

“And now,” she sobbed, swiping at traitor tears, only for new ones to replace them. “He’s giving me all these mixed signals. The kiss in the yard… I don’t know! I felt _something_ … Maker, Alyx, I think I’m in _love_ with him! And I just… don’t know what to do. He’s going to marry some beautiful woman with no magic in her blood who isn’t some sweating, grunting ape of a woman—one who can actually _be_ his Princess—and he’s going to forget all about me. Andraste’s sweaty _tits_ , but I was so stupid!”

“Okay, I swear I’m not trying to make light of this situation,” Alyx said, “but we’re not punching him right the fuck in his smug face… _why,_ exactly?”

“Because he’s _right_ , Alyx,” Emma sighed, pushing her hands through her hair. “Fuck him and the way he handled it, but he’s fucking _right_. He’s a Prince… I should have known better.”

“No. _Fuck_ that. _He’s_ the one who should have known better, Emma. This isn’t on you. He should never have led you on like that if he’s just gonna go and marry some bitch just for her impeccable fucking _bloodline!”_

“What am I going to do, Alyx?” Emma whimpered, flinching away from Alyx’s vitriol. She knew it wasn’t directed at her. “I can’t keep _doing this_. I can’t keep losing people, Alyx—it’s going to kill me. I think I’m in love with him... he didn’t handle this well, but he’s _such_ a good man. And I love him.”

Alyx sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I’m not… you know I’m not good at this kind of stuff.” She ran a hand through her hair. “But hey—if you still want to hit things, I might be able to help with _that_ at least.” 

“I want to hit so many things, Alyx,” Emma said, sniffling and trying to push down her sadness. “I want to hit things until there are no more things to hit—the Alyx Trevelyan Signature Coping Mechanism… seems to work for you.”

“That it does.” Alyx grinned. “Yeah, we’ve got a lead on Calpernia. Some merchant in Val Royeaux. Knowing our luck, it’ll go tits up and there will be plenty of things to hit!”

“Are you offering to bring me on your Super Secret Chamberlain Mission du Jour? Me? The grunting Battlemaster who wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit her in the arse?”

Alyx gave her a playful shove. “None of that. Besides, Grier and Sera are coming already. And ‘subtlety’ is obviously Sera’s middle name.”

“Oh yes, Sera has enough subtlety to make up for my utter lack of any,” Emma chuckled, concealing a snort in her elbow. “Alright, when do we leave? Tonight? Tomorrow? Sooner the better, in my opinion.”

“I was planning on tomorrow, but we can maybe manage tonight,” Alyx replied with a grin.

“Perfect,” Emma said. “I’ll be ready to go by sundown; and I’ll let Josephine know I’ll be away from Skyhold for a while. Cullen can hold down the fort for awhile, yes?” 

“Eh, he’ll manage. Now, the real challenge will be getting Grier out of Iris’s clutches a few hours early.”

Emma snorted before throwing her arms around Alyx’s neck. She sometimes forgot she was shorter than her cousin, who tended to overwhelm a room even when she was the smallest one there, but for the moment, it was nice to feel protected; “Thanks, Alyx. You’re… you’re my best friend, you know?”

“I know,” Alyx responded smugly. Emma went to pull away with a snort, but Alyx squeezed her tighter. “Sorry, sorry. You’re my best friend too, Emma. I mean it.” 

~~~

 _Just as a Theirin must always be in Denerim; a Trevelyan must always be at Skyhold_. 

Varric chuckled to himself—that line was bad, even for him. But coming up with horrifically cheesy lines for the eventual novel he was going to write about all these Trevelyans was better than yet another correspondence from his editor. He was so tired of staring at charts and charts of numbers he was ready to quit all business ties and just wander the world telling stories. He was good at that. Maybe the Seeker could come with him… 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he, once again, signed and initialed the letter of approval before moving on. He didn’t even need to see the parchment to know it wasn’t for him. The quality of the paper was too fine, and the bundle was too thick. Sure enough, when Varric turned it over, the golden seal of Starkhaven stared back at him. He narrowed his eyes—it would be easy to just send it up with one of the maids. But where was the fun in sending it off without first taking a peek inside?

Varric pulled a small dagger from his belt and gently warmed the top of the blade over the candle flame. Mindful of the wax seal, he slowly slipped the metal through and gently peeled the wax in half. 

_Your Royal Highness,_

_Due to your extended stay within the Inquisition it has become difficult to relay the proposals that arrive at Starkhaven daily……._

_Several ladies are willing and able to make the trip to Skyhold so that you may determine their eligibility of marriage….._

_Inquiries can be made of the Inquisition on your behalf to ensure this process moves smoothly…._

_It would be in the best interests of your kingdom for you to be wed and producing heirs before this calamity swallows all of Thedas…._

Varric shook his head and let out a sigh. _Oh Choir Boy, you really have not changed._ He didn’t bother resealing the wax. Better for Sebastian to know exactly what their conversation would be about when he got to his rooms. No need to beat about the bush or use subterfuge to get at the truth. At least now he knew why Snowflake was so keen on leaving before first light to go to Val Royeaux. Well, he wasn’t going to stand for this. Not for one Maker-damned second. Varric gave a swift knock on the door before waltzing into Sebastian’s chambers. The room was certainly _not_ what Varric had expected—if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but not the simple, lived-in, comfortable room with the surprisingly messy bed. He also wasn’t expecting Sebastian to be sitting in a comfortable chair with a book in his lap—only his keen skills of observation told him the room reeked of Antivan brandy and Choir Boy was looking at the page, but he wasn’t reading it. 

“Hello, Varric,” Sebastian said curtly, but politely. “What can I do for you?”

“Urgent news from Starkhaven, your Highness,” Varric replied, tossing the parchment at him. “Says here you’re an ass.”

Sebastian plucked up the letter, staring impassively; “And may I ask why it was opened and not just brought to me?”

“Came to me completely by mistake,” Varric said with a shrug. “I just let curiosity win out over better judgement.”

“Well, thank you for bringing it to me, Varric,” Sebastian sighed. “Is there something else, or…?”

“If you think for one minute I am going to allow you to have a parade of women brought here for your _examination_ , then you are just as dense as I have always believed you to be.”

Sebastian quirked his brow, shocked out of his semi-dazed state by the venom in Varric’s voice; “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? I am happy to provide my services to the Inquisitor as long as he would have me, but without heirs my lands are still unstable. I need to find a bride, Varric, and—”

“You need to pull your sanctimonious head out of your ass and think about something other than your precious Starkhaven for once!” Varric shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “What do you think that would do to Snowflake?”

Sebastian scowled, his expression darkening in way Varric couldn’t recall ever seeing; “The Battlemaster has made her choice; the choice to end our association was mutual.”

“Battlemaster? Association? Is that what you call it? I swear Tranquil mages have more emotion than you.”

“What do you want me to say, Varric?” Sebastian asked, his tone still _frustratingly_ even. “There isn’t much I can do at this point—as foreign as it may be to you, I have a duty to my people. I will not shirk those duties for... personal indulgences.”

“You haven’t changed at all,” Varric sighed. “Thank the Maker Snowflake got away now. I hate to see what it would do to her when she sees the demands you make of others in pursuit of your _duties_.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Sebastian growled through his teeth.

“It means I watched my best friend go out of her way to help you…to help you avenge the death of your family,” Varric began evenly. “Yet even when it was all said and done, you still did not go forward to reclaim your kingdom for the sake of your duty to the Chantry. Hawke took you in; we all took you in. Yet at the moment when we needed to stand together, to unite, you asked for the blood of one of our own...because of your Maker damned duty!” 

Sebastian had incredible aim—even he couldn’t deny it—so it was likely the fact Sebastian was still, at his core, a nice guy the only thing saving him from the glass he hurled at the wall. It missed Varric’s face by inches and shattered to the floor. He didn’t even think Sebastian had meant to do it. 

“Do you think this is _easy_ for me?” Sebastian snarled, raking his hands through his hair. “Do you think I wanted all this? Maker, I’ve lost _everything_ , Varric! Everyone I’ve ever loved or ever called family is _dead_. Starkhaven is _all I have_ , and all I ever expected to have! I never expected to… to fall in love! And I had to watch her _walk away_!”

“Because you let her!” Varric screamed back. “Because the only time you are ever honest with yourself is when you actually let yourself feel something. For once in your life, Sebastian, stop letting what's expected of you make your every decision!”

“I don’t know how!” Sebastian shouted, visibly deflating a bit. He wouldn’t meet Varric’s eyes, instead staring at the pile of papers on his desk, seemingly in hope that he could pull a Firefly and set them on fire. “I’ve never… I don’t know how.”

“You need to figure it out, before you lose her,” Varric said softly. “Trust me, once you lose her—the regret... it never goes away.” 

“Maybe there is something you can help me understand,” Sebastian said around a strangled noise in his throat. “I just… we kissed, and she...she won’t talk to me. I want to understand; I want to come to some sort of compromise or _something_ , but…”

“In love there is no such thing as compromise. You don’t get to shuffle her aside for the sake of your kingdom. Which I am assuming is what she believes you intend to do.”

“It’s not my intent,” he murmured. “But I suppose my intent doesn't matter. I just wish I didn’t have to choose between her and Starkhaven—because that’s the feeling I’m getting.”

“Have you looked at these proposals?” Varric asked poring over the documents on the desk. “Tell me, what's the one thing written here that might have caused Snowflake to feel a bit put out?”

“I—” Sebastian snatched a stack of papers from the surface, skimming the words. He flipped through each stack, getting visibly angrier with each passing moment until he threw the whole stack into the empty hearth. He started spitting guttural, unfamiliar, rolling words that sounded suspiciously like vitriolic curses. “Emma’s a mage. Of _course_ —I’m such an _idiot_.”

“The first step towards fixing the problem is admitting you have one,” Varric quipped dryly. “Now the second step is actually doing something to fix it. But for that one you are on your own.”

“Do you know where she is?” Sebastian asked.

“Left at sundown with Sucker Punch for Val Royeaux.” Varric responded. “But hey, that means you actually have time to think of a solution instead of just jumping on the first idea that comes to mind.”

“My first idea was laying her into the nearest soft, horizontal surface until she forgot her first name,” Sebastian said with a wriggle of his eyebrows. “But I suppose an actual _plan_ might have to do.”

“If that was your first idea, then my advice is to stop reading my novels.”

“Personal experience is more valuable than any _novel_ , Varric.”

“Tell you what, you want advice on love? Go to Firefly, she’s got a mental compendium of every sort of romantic gesture through the course of written history,” Varric called back as he headed out the door. “Oh and before I forget: I’m still alive, Sebastian. Hawke and Fenris are, too.”

“I’m… what?”

“You said everyone you ever called family is dead, well you’re wrong. We’re all still here.” 

Sebastian drew in a sharp breath, his eyes going dangerously wide and watery—for a moment, Varric feared the Prince may _actually_ cry. Instead, he responded with a huff; “Open my mail again, dwarf, and your chest hair is toast.”

“Destroy the chest hair and see every woman in Skyhold outside your door with torches and pitchforks, Choir Boy,” Varric replied with a wink before sauntering out the door.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Minor implications of Sexual Assault

It was easy to see something wasn’t right; a blind idiot could see something wasn’t right. Not only did it look like a paper bomb had gone off, but the merchant they were supposed to meet was nowhere to be found. Emma shuffled through the paperwork, careful to disturb as little as possible as she made her way to the desk. 

“What happened here?” she asked quietly, taking in the scene. She grimaced when she dragged her boot through a puddle of blood. “Where is this merchant you said you were going to meet?”

“There are several possibilities, and at this point none of them are good,” Alyx said. “We should keep our voices down, though.”

“Check this out,” Grier whispered, holding up a stiff parchment. “Seems this Vicinius angered Calpernia by sending her mistreated slaves.”

“‘No brands or whip marks?’” Emma asked, reaching the parchment’s contents. “Andraste’s tits, she was paying a fortune for literate slaves. You’d think, being from Tevinter, she wouldn’t care—what can slaves do that Venatori can’t?”

“Let’s see what else we can find out,” Alyx said. “At least some of these papers have got to be useful.”

Emma pored over the contents of the desk, squinting in the dim lighting. Sera kept running her finger over her bowstring, jumping at most every sound, while Grier helped Alyx fish through the stacks of ledgers. For the most part, it all looked legitimate, until she came across a list hidden in a drawer. The first item drew her attention: 

_Fourteen healthy males; three literate, former scribes and bookkeepers; set aside for C_

She felt herself retch a little bit as she scanned down the list— _deduct twenty sovereigns for missing hand_ really stuck out—but the note at the bottom about the demand? She had to wonder what in the world was going on. 

“An invoice,” she whispered. “For a shipment of slaves.”

Alyx walked over, hand outstretched. Emma handed her the list, and watched Alyx’s face darken as she read it. “Well, that’s lovely,” Alyx muttered, tucking the paper into her bag. 

“Looks like this Vishy guy was into more than perfumes and pies,” Sera snarled. “Worse than those rich tits who like to punch down.”

The thump of boots above their heads drew the girls instantly silent; someone was _there_. Emma put her index finger over her lip and pointed towards the back of the manor. She carefully noted the way Alyx moved from heel-to-toe, testing each step before committing her full weight. She wasn’t sure how Grier was in combat, and the close quarters would hamstring Emma’s strategies. 

“Do you girls trust me?” Emma whispered. 

“Go for it, Princess,” Alyx responded.

“Then I have a plan,” she said. She beckoned them closer. “Grier, I want you to stay with me, near the rear. We’ll be strictly support. Sera, when I give you the signal, I want you to go upstairs, start firing arrows at anything that moves, and making as much noise as humanly possible. And Alyx…”

Alyx grinned. “Got it.”

“Stick ‘em like pincushions. Can do, prissybritches,” Sera said.

“Alright then,” Emma said, nodding at Sera. “You know what to do.”

“Thanks for the fun job; though you should stay out of my way if you want those pretty arses unstuck.”

Alyx hefted her staff, leaning it against the wall; “Not so great for what I have planned. But I want to come back for it. It’s purple and has a dragon on it.”

“It’s lovely, Alyx,” Grier said with a hushed laugh.

With a grin, Emma held up her hand in a silent signal; they moved into position, Alyx in the shadowy corners at the base of the stairs. Once Emma closed her fist, Sera started _stomping_. 

“Hey! Arsebiscuits!” she shouted, pinning them with one arrow after another. Emma expected taunts, or possibly demands, or… well, she wasn’t sure what she expected, but the string of colorful curses was effective. “Piss-buckets! Vinty bastards! Friggin’ fucktwats!”

_Ok, that’s a new one._

In the chaos of two mages flinging magic with their staves, Emma watched as Alyx silently melted into the shadows. It was quite impressive—there one minute, gone the next. If Emma hadn’t just watched her disappear, she’d have lost her completely, and even then she would really have to concentrate to keep tabs on her, and she couldn’t afford that. She and Grier had to focus—and Grier’s style was all Ostwick martial classes with Enchanter Granuaile, combined with a rough quality that came with being on her own. At that point, Emma was satisfied with whatever got the job done. 

There were only about four Venatori spellbinders, and Sera was able to take down two pretty easily before they got their barriers up. After that, they put most of their energy into holding them off, most likely hoping they would run out of arrows and mana before they did. But they couldn’t see the card that ended the game in play—the Angel of Death, if she was in the mood to be poetic—moving through the shadows. 

Alyx melted out of the utter blackness only long enough to pull two wicked looking daggers from her soft boots, driving them into the Venatori’s kidneys. The whole room lit up with purple lightning, and the sick crackling noise combined with the wet screams of the dying man filled the air. The other spellbinder was distracted by the display, which let Emma sneak through his barrier to begin the creeping frost up his legs and over his torso. Panicking, the man backed away from them until his back was pressed against the large window; Alyx took the opportunity to aim a roundhouse kick to his chest, sending him flying through the shattered glass. He crashed wetly to the pavestones below. 

“Well,” Alyx sighed, straightening her jacket. “That was fun.”

“Alright, I understand we are on a very important mission,” Emma interjected, retrieving Alyx’s staff from the corner she stashed it in. “But what in the Maker’s holy name was _that_?”

“What, you didn’t like it?” Alyx asked, feigning offense.

“Don’t even pretend that wasn’t the most badass thing that ever happened ever,” Emma retorted, her eyes wide and bright with adrenalin. 

Alyx laughed. “You should have seen the first time I tried that trick. Hair stood _straight_ up; for the life of me I could not get it to lay flat again. Anders nearly lost it laughing at me,” she said, smiling at the memory.

“I would give every piece of gold in the Trevelyan vault to see that,” Emma said, turning back into the room proper. “But we have work to do. I take it the pile of gore and viscera in the corner…”

“Vicinius,” Alyx confirmed. “That answers that, I suppose. Let’s search the room. The Venatori must have been here for something.”

With that, they set to work. Somehow, there was still _more paper_ with _still more_ ledgers and it was all still somehow useless. Just when Emma was ready to ask Alyx to torch the place, Vicinius’ remains and all, when she heard... _something_. It sounded like… her teeth were vibrating? 

“Do you hear that?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. 

“Yeah, I do. Sounds like whatever it is we’re looking for,” Alyx said with a grin.

“Your freaky magic-y shite needs to stay over there,” Sera growled from the other side of the room. “I don’t hear nothin’.” 

“Maybe only mages can hear it?” Emma asked. “Come on; let’s see if we can find the source.”

Grier, Alyx, and Emma split up into the corners of the room, following the sound of the humming. Finally, under a pile of discarded, blood papers, she found what she was looking for; “Ah ha! Hey, I found something!”

“What is that?” Alyx asked. “A crystal?”

“Looks like it,” Grier replied. “But look at the jagged edges. It’s been shattered.”

“I’m still hearing the humming,” Emma said. “Maybe there are more pieces?”

Grier went to one corner, while Alyx went to the other, following the humming, until they found the remaining pieces. Once they were brought back together, the humming increased in frequency until they heard a sharp, richly-accented voice from behind them. 

_I warned you of the consequences should the slaves you bring me suffer in your care! Venatori! Show him my displeasure!_

“What the fuck was that?” Alyx exclaimed, glowering at the crystal in Emma’s palm. 

“I read about these,” Grier muttered, staring with wide eyes at the tiny artifact. “They’re rare—Dwarven artifacts for storing memories.”

Emma sighed indulgently; “We should get it back to Skyhold. If anything, Iris and Dagna will have a field day. Do you have what you need, Alyx?”

“I’ll grab what I can for the ledgers,” Alyx responded. “Leliana’s agents will probably have to come in and clean the place out, but I think we’re done here. Besides, Princess here has dance lessons with the Prince. Won’t that be fun?”

“Ugh,” Emma groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

~~~

Emma returned from Val Royeaux with fire in her eyes and the intricate wheels of a complex puzzle turning in her head. The Inquisitor returned a few hours later, covered in grime, but triumphant _and_ with a few new Avvar agents. It was a successful outing with a very quiet castle, and it appeared the last long-term outing for anyone for a while. Josephine was frantic preparing for the ball—so much so that she had dance lessons scheduled with Sebastian and Emma supposedly leading the thing a mere day after their return. 

Maryden tuned her instrument in the corner, prepared to whip out the most popular tunes in the Orlesian courts at the drop of a hat; the throne room had been cleared of visiting nobility, and most everyone was gathered. Alyx and Grier were tucked off to the side, whispering conspiratorially with Sera, their heads bent in a way that made Sebastian nervous. Iris stood in the doorway to the rotunda, she and Solas were engaged in an animated discussion. Gerhardt, Blackwall and Cassandra stood in a cluster, not speaking or looking at one another. Zane and Iron Bull were sitting out of the way, watching the proceedings with deceptively impassive expressions, while Xander and Dorian had a quiet conversation with Varric. Varric, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be paying attention, but instead kept shooting surreptitious glances at Sebastian and Emma. He kept making eye contact with Sebastian and jerking his head towards Emma, indicating that he should be _talking_ to her. Sebastian shot a pleading look at Varric—it wasn’t the right time. 

“No! I refuse! I won’t participate in this _frippery_ , Madam Ambassador!” Cullen’s voice could be heard echoing from the back of the rotunda.

“You’ll _participate_ , Commander, and you will _like it_ ,” Josephine replied, dragging Cullen through the door into the throne room. “Your last pupil is here and _ready_ to perform his duties.”

“Thank you, Madam Ambassador,” Sebastian murmured. “I suppose, then, we are ready to begin.”

Josephine dragged Cullen to stand next to Iris; “Hit him with a fireball if he runs, Iris. That’s an order.”

“Well I suppose that means I’m obligated to obey,” Iris replied with a shrug and gave Cullen an apologetic smile. Sebastian couldn’t miss the suspicious glower the Inquisitor shot at the Commander.

“Good,” Josephine said with a self-satisfied smirk before taking her place next to Blackwall. “Whenever you’re ready, highness.”

“Thank you, again,” Sebastian said. “While most Orlesian balls have complex dances, I think we should start with a simple waltz. Just to get everyone acclimated. It shouldn’t be difficult, if everyone could pair off. Lady Emma, if you would?”

He held out his hand for Emma, giving her what he _hoped_ was an easy smile. She rolled her eyes, slipping her hand into his. Her fingers were a little too tight for dancing—she was still mad. He hoped he could work through it, maybe talk to her as he spun her into his arms. He tried to pull her close, but her hand in the middle of his chest kept her at nearly arm’s length from him. He prayed this wouldn’t be an unmitigated disaster as everyone else paired off. 

Turned out, his prayers were _not_ answered.

Sebastian tried to lead her through a simple waltz, but she would barely look him in the eyes. He made an annoyed huff under his breath; “Emma, can we talk?”

“No.” He tried to spin her out from him, but she stiffened, leading to him stumbling into her.

“Emma, please? Let’s not be childish,” he said, feeling his ire build as he tried to lead her and she wouldn’t _let_ him. 

“Oh, now _I’m_ being childish?” she growled, trodding on his toes. Despite her quiet apology, he wasn’t sure it was an accident.

“I was just hoping we could talk,” he riposted, going one way when she went the other, nearly sending them sprawling to the stones. 

“So you’re taking advantage of me doing my _duty_ by helping you with this?” Emma snapped, shoving away from him. “Trust me, I’m not here because I want to be.”

Their distraction had let to chaos breaking out around him. Utter mayhem. It started with a painful squeal from Iris—a result of Cullen’s boots smashing into her bare feet. Bull and Zane had decided to forgo the waltz and perform an improvised tango throughout the room, making scathing comments about everyone’s outfits in mock Orlesian accents. Cassandra was stiff in Gerhardt’s arms and kept making disgusted noises at Sera, who was giggling maniacally in the corner. Her attention was drawn to Grier and Alyx who were...Well, he wasn't sure how to describe what they were doing, but it seemed more suited to the bedroom. Blackwall and Josephine seemed to be the only ones still dancing correctly, though they kept bumping into Xander and Dorian, who were trying their best to ignore the chaos around them.

Sebastian took a deep breath and was about to yell for some semblance of order when there was a sharp clapping sound. Vivienne stood in the stairwell from her balcony, drawing all attention to her. Once there was silence, she walked with purpose towards the group, her sharp heels echoing through the hall. She gave Sera a pointed glare and held her hand out. Sera gave a look of indignation before handing over the jar of bees she had been hiding behind her back.

“Iris darling, run to your room and put on some shoes. The floors of the Winter Palace have seen far too many disgusting events for you to risk placing your bare feet on them,” she spoke kindly to Iris. “Commander, do try to watch your steps. We don’t want to damage the little lamb before she even gets a chance to be shown off to the court.”

Alyx and Grier were frozen in place together and Alyx narrowed her eyes at Vivienne, daring her to make a comment. “Alyx, save those sorts of moves for the end of the night. If the right people are present, I daresay they may invite the two of you to a more interesting party.”

“Bull,” Vivienne said sharply drawing the attention of the hulking Qunari.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded politely.

“That style of dance is from five years ago. Put your hands closer to his hips and shoulder blades and lead with the left foot instead of the right.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

Vivienne smiled as Iris came bounding back into the room and gave a nod of approval when Iris lifted her skirt to show she was in sensible flats. “My dear, you might want to start practicing wearing heels soon.”

She ignored the whine of protest and moved onto Sebastian and Emma. She steered Emma to the side of the room and took Sebastian’s hand into her own, placing the other at her hip. “The rest of you, watch and observe. Normally the gentleman leads, but it seems our esteemed Prince needs a bit of leading today.”

She led Sebastian around the room in a graceful waltz. Making eye contact with everyone as she passed. “Dancing is speaking without words,” she intoned as she and Sebastian glided across the floor. “It speaks for you where your voice might fail.”

She let go of Sebastian, leaving him at the far end of the room. Taking hold of Cullen’s hand, she led him into the same steps. “Commander, if you leave one single mark on my shoes with those boots of yours, I will be forced to hurt you.”

Cullen nodded and swallowed hard. Vivienne led him through the steps and soon joined his hand to Iris’s. She set off to find her next partner. Her eyes landed on Cassandra; the Seeker gave her a pained look before being taken across the floor. “When you are stiff you give the idea that you are not happy with your dance partner. You must let yourself glide and be graceful. Let their hands rest where they want to and enjoy the feeling of intimacy that comes from the dance.”

Soon Cassandra and Gerhardt were paired off again. This time, a soft smile could be seen on the Seekers face as the Templar led her across the floor. 

“Dance is its own language. You speak volumes with your body when you lead someone across the floor. Where words fail, dance triumphs.”

Soon everyone was paired off and waltzing beautifully. Vivienne was leading Emma around the room, the two women moved like water between the other dancers. As they got closer to Sebastian, Vivienne sent Emma into a spin. Sebastian was waiting with open arms to catch her and there was a great warmth in his chest when she looked up at him.

“Let your hands do the talking, and everything you want to say will come out,” Vivienne declared before departing back to her balcony.

Sebastian situated his hands on Emma’s hips, letting his fingers glide down her arms until their hands interlocked. He stepped forward, pulling her close, and this time she let him lead. Vivienne, bless that perfect, perfect woman, gave him everything he needed. He just needed to say the right words. 

~~~

He was sorry. She could see it in his eyes and the gentle way he held her, and Maker help her, but she wanted to forgive him. Her heart pounded in her chest as they swirled around the room with the other dancers. Pressed against his body, she could feel his heat radiating through their clothes, and for a second she let herself believe that everything would be alright. She let herself forget their stations and his duty and just let herself take in his soft, subtle scent and the way his calluses felt against her fingers. 

His nose nuzzled against her cheek, which drew her attention back up to his eyes—warm and soft, and full of remorse. Vivienne’s pointed, unsubtle words clicked, and she knew what he was trying to say. The language of his body came through, loud and clear. 

A squeeze of her hips: _I’m so sorry_. 

Gentle fingers teasing up the curve of her spine: _I can’t live without you._

Loving, tender caresses of his lips against her temples: _We’ll make this work; I promise._

A tight embrace, drawing her gaze up to his face: _Please, forgive me._

So she answered in kind. Without words—words she couldn’t say… not yet. Not with all these people around, and the swell of music and the surge of emotion in her chest as she grabbed his collar. She drew him close, her breath a whisper across his lips. She nodded, a forgiveness in a way, but she had _so much more_ to say. 

A fierce, tender, almost shy kiss on his perfect, perfect lips: _I love you._

~~~

Cullen was making his way towards the forge house. Good. It was a perfect time to have a _conversation_ he’d been wanting to have. The confident stride from the stairs to the modest wooden door reminded him of one perk of being Inquisitor—no one tended to interrupt him when he was on a mission. He waited a full four heartbeats after seeing Cullen go in before he followed; the workers’ attention was instantly drawn to him, and all sounds of work ceased immediately. 

“If you could excuse me, please?” Xander said softly—almost gently—but firmly enough to demand instant, unquestioning compliance. “I would like to speak to the Commander alone.”

Cullen’s eyes widened in a way that shouldn’t have satisfied him; the workers filed out with respectful nods and muttered ‘your Worships’ until, finally, they were alone.

“Xan—I mean Inquisitor—is there something wrong?” Cullen asked nervously, keeping his hands squarely at his sides. His posture gave away his nervousness.

_Good. I’m glad he’s nervous; he should be, for putting hands on Iris._

Xander took a deep breath—he wasn’t here to berate. Iris was her own woman—she had every right to see anyone she wanted. But something of the fact he hadn’t been _told_ smacked of betrayal. He sighed deeply, running his hands through his hair. 

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly,” Xander answered, pacing closer to Cullen. He tried to keep his stance easy and casual, although he knew the look in his eyes would stop a lesser man dead. “I just think we’re overdue for a little...chat.”

“All right, anything in particular that is concerning you?”

Xander quirked his brow—the scarred one; that typically scared people more—and gave Cullen a deadpan stare; “You’re seeing my baby sister, are you not? In a romantic sense? I assume this rings a bell, because if it doesn’t, we have a _completely_ different sort of conversation that needs to happen.”

_One that involves fists._

“Yes, Iris and I...have made our feelings for each other known,” Cullen replied carefully, his hand twitched and Xander knew he was resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck. It was one of the few physical tics Cullen had.

“Well, my question is the simple one that all older brothers must ask about their younger sisters and their potential romantic partners—as an older brother yourself, surely you must understand,” Xander said lightly, drawing himself up to full height. He wasn’t _that_ much taller than Cullen, but it was enough that he had to tip his chin up to look Xander in the eyes, which was gratifying. “But what are your intentions with Iris?”

“I assure you my intentions are nothing short of honorable,” Cullen began. “Iris and I both agreed to be as discreet as possible. The display you saw the other day—that was unintentional. We have no wish to cause issues within the ranks.”

“At least you acknowledge _that_ little slip-up,” Xander fairly growled, narrowing his eyes. “And I assume… you’ve been _honest_ with her?”

Cullen straightened and his eyes narrowed slightly. Xander had struck a cord. “Yes,” he said curtly.

Xander felt a twinge of remorse. Just a little one. Little tiny baby one. Barely registered. But it was there; “Look, I’m sorry. That was low; but Iris means _so much_ to me. You have to understand that. I just… I don’t want her to get hurt. And if you’re going to be the man to hurt her, I suggest we take this outside.”

“I would sooner cut out my own heart than to do something to cause her grief,” he answered with enough sincerity to give Xander pause. 

Still, the brotherly instinct was difficult to overcome; “Alright, Cullen, I believe you. But I have to know _why_. Why is it her, specifically? Is it her innocence? Her looks? What exactly do you want from her?”

“You’re asking me if I have feelings for your sister based on what? Her face?” Cullen asked aghast. “You think so highly of me as to wonder if I care for Iris simply because she is beautiful?”

“That’s not what I’m asking at all, Cullen,” Xander snapped. “Maybe I’m protective of her, and maybe I _have_ to assume the worst in you! In _any_ partner she chooses! She may not want it from me or need it, but it’s my job to protect her. It always has been, and it will be until we’re both old and grey. Do you _understand_?”

“I understand that you are so blinded by this need to look after her that you are diminishing her better qualities for the sake of getting a rise out of me.”

The fireplace they were standing in front of had grown noticeably hotter as their discussion had gone on. But no sooner had Xander found a retort the flames shot up in a sudden burst of energy. The wooden door swung open and Xander paled seeing the tiny figure of his sister in the open doorway.

“Alexander Trevelyan!” She seethed. “What in the Maker’s name do you think you are doing?”

“Umm…” Xander shrunk visibly, twiddling his thumbs in front of him and dipping his eyes. “Exercising my divine brotherly right?”

“By cornering Cullen in the forge? What exactly were you hoping to accomplish?”

“Look, forgive me for being a little overprotective, Iris, but I do have a good reason,” Xander protested. “I mean, I can’t think of it right now, but I do! I’m just… doing the big brother thing.”

“A _little_ overprotective? You call this a little?” Iris gestured between Xander and Cullen. “A little is scowling when he looks at me sideways. This, what you are doing here, this is lunacy.”

Xander rolled his eyes, crossing his arms; “Well, if it makes you feel better, I can do that too. I’m just asking about his intentions, Iris; not a big deal.”

“You know Alyx beat you to the punch right?” Cullen interjected suddenly. “Weeks ago actually.”

“But you see,” Xander said, turning to Cullen. “I wasn’t _there_. It’s my turn.”

“His intentions are none of your damn business!” Iris squealed. “If he wants to bend me over his desk and make a woman out of me that’s his prerogative. Whether or not I let him is mine!”

Xander felt himself flush to his hairline. He remained determined, however; “I know what you’re trying to do, Iris. It’s… Well, it’s working—please stop—but I maintain the right to _ask_. I can _ask,_ right? Or is my Commander now off limits to me now that you’re seeing him?”

“I feel like this is going in a direction I should not be a part of, perhaps I should…” Cullen began before two matched sets of green eyes locked on him with a unanimous _NO._

“Young man, being a drama queen is doing you no favors,” Iris declared with an annoyed tone that sounded so much like Vivienne, Xander visibly cringed.

“Says the one who made the fire grow to announce her entrance,” Xander gibed, poking her in the ribs.

“Not everyone can just walk into a room and immediately be noticed, you giant!”

“Oh, see Iris, that was hurtful,” Xander said, pouting dramatically. “I’m like, an ogre. Tops.”

“You’re going to be a roast goose if you don’t apologize to both of us right now.”

“Alright, then, I’m sorry for interfering,” Xander said sincerely. “Truly. I mean it; I really am. But to be fair, I’m pretty sure Dorian would take umbrage with you roasting me before he’s gotten me into bed.”

“Well, it’s his own damn fault for not getting you into bed already,” Iris replied with a chuckle. Her comment was made in jest, Xander knew it, but it brought out a fear in him he had been holding back, long thought repressed. He knew the instant he physically reacted, because she _saw it_ , like she saw everything. “Cullen, my brother and I need to have a word.”

Cullen nodded silently and made his way towards the door. Iris caught his hand as he passed and they shared a look between them. It was one of pure adoration and understanding; Cullen paused before he left, turning to Xander with resolve in his eyes.

“I’m good enough to command your armies and lay down my life to protect you… then I’ll be _damned_ if I’m not good enough for your sister,” he said. “She means the world to me, and nothing you say will take her from me if she doesn’t want to be taken.”

Cullen’s gaze softened as he turned his eyes back to Iris. She gave him a wistful smile before turning back to her brother. The annoyed glare from before was replaced with one of such genuine concern Xander felt himself shaking. She was going to root the truth out of him and he knew there was no way to stop her. “All right then, as your little sister I am exercising my _divine right_ to ask what's wrong?”

Just because it was a forgone conclusion didn’t mean he had to give up his deepest, darkest secrets because she asked; “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Iris. I was just having an unfriendly conversation with Cullen, who laid my ass out to dry, if you didn’t notice. So what’s the issue?”

“The issue is you blushed at the idea of me bedding Cullen, which was adorable by the way,” Iris began her tone light. “But the second I mentioned you being bedded by Dorian, you froze up and I honestly thought you might flee the room just to escape the concept.”

“Why, because I don’t want to discuss my sex life with my sister?” Xander retorted, his tone a bit harsher than he was intending. He turned his eyes away from Iris, taking a deep breath through the nose, trying to _forget_... _Where’s Cole when I need him?_

“Seems to me you’re not discussing your sex life with anyone with that attitude. You have spoken about sex with Dorian, have you not? I’m not even his type and we’ve talked about sex.”

Xander’s heart hammered in his chest, the room suddenly uncomfortably warm. His skin suddenly felt too tight, yet at the same time he felt like he was falling apart. He wrapped his arms around his middle, squeezing his eyes tighter at the memory. 

_Such a good boy… be quiet, or your Mother may hear…_

He shook himself; “Of course I’ve…” he stopped himself. He couldn’t lie to her. “No. I haven’t discussed sex with...with anyone outside of a casual dalliance. Not for a long time.”

“Oh Maker, Xander, what happened to you?”

Xander shrugged, turning away from her. 

_She knows. She has to. She’s trying to get me to say it, but she knows. She’ll be so ashamed of me._

“Nothing,” he replied, his voice too high and light to be as casual as he was trying to appear. “I… I was eighteen, and someone had sex with me, and I didn’t want to. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Iris squeaked angrily. “Xander...that’s...you know what that is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Iris,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not… I wasn’t…”

Iris placed a hand on his arm gave it a squeeze. She peered up at him and tilted his chin so he could look her in the eyes. “Did you say yes?”

“Not…” he sighed. “Not in those exact terms, no. Look, it was one time and I couldn’t protect myself. I wasn’t strong enough to… to stop him. So it’s my fault, really. I won’t let it happen again.”

Iris’s calm facade was betrayed by the roaring fire behind them. What was supposed to be a gentle flame had turned into a raging inferno that threatened to come spilling out. Iris took several deep breaths and with each one the fire slowly came down. “Xander, come with me,” she said pulling him to the door.

He let himself be led… it was definitely easier that way; “Iris, we can’t tell Dorian. He won’t… he can’t know. He can _never_ know.”

_He won’t want me anymore! I’m unclean._

“I’m not telling Dorian anything,” she said pointedly. She waved over a servant. “Please send up tea, cakes, and plenty of wine to my quarters. Inform the Spymaster and Ambassador that the Inquisitor is not to be disturbed for the rest of the day. Also, inform the Commander that I will not be joining him for dinner tonight. He will understand.”

As she dragged him up to her room, it occurred to him she’d never shown him her room before. He didn’t know what he expected, but the piles of books, rumpled bedding, _dozens_ of dresses (seriously, who needed that many dresses), clothes everywhere and the neatly arranged, completely untouched shoes against the wall… 

_Oh, this is Iris. This is Iris to her core._

She drew back the curtain on her private bath—simpler than his, but with far more bath products—and started filling the simple, copper tub. 

“Strip to your smalls,” she said busying herself looking through the bottles. “Lavender or Vanilla? Personally I use both.”

Xander reflexively tugged down the bottom edge of his shirt; “I’d… I’d rather not.”

Iris fixed him with an annoyed look. “You are my brother. I know I’ve seen you naked before.”

“That was...a long time ago...I got...bigger.”

Iris snorted and pulled out a privacy screen. “I’m putting both in since you didn't bother to answer. The vanilla oil will color the water white. Let me know when you’re settled in.”

He rolled his eyes—seemed there was no denying her once she had her mind set on something. For a moment, he actually pitied Cullen a little bit. He quickly stripped, trying not to look down at his own body. He put his hand over his chest, and he could feel his rabbit heartbeat hammering under his palm. He knew the scars crossed over solid muscle—objectively, he supposed he was attractive. But at the moment, he couldn’t bear to see his own skin. He knew, in his mind, that there weren’t visible marks where he’d been touched against his will. But he felt them like branded welts. 

True to her word, the bath was filled nearly to the top with white, sweetly-scented water. His hissed when he lowered himself in—the water was near scalding and a touch hotter than he usually preferred, but the sting of the heat chased all else away. He settled against the back of the copper tub, surprised that his whole giant form actually _fit_. 

“Alright, bossy britches, I’m covered,” he called, tugging on the leather tie that kept his hair in place. “You mind telling me what this is about?”

Iris walked back in and pulled up a stool so she could sit behind him. Her fingers started combing through his hair; her nails ran along his scalp where the hair was shorn down to the skin. “The only way you are going to be able to get this all out is if we relax you first. So I am taking care of you, as someone should have done years ago.”

Xander snorted under his breath, leaning heavily into her hands; “Well, keep touching my hair and you’ll get me so relaxed I’ll tell you the names I’ve picked out for the four children I want to eventually have with Dorian someday.”

She laughed softly before leaning his head back to pour hot water over his tresses. She pulled a bottle of something sweet smelling from the shelf and began massaging it through. “I always knew you were the maternal type.”

“It’s these child-rearing hips of mine,” he quipped, though he did stiffen at the mere mention of a motherly figure. Her fingers paused, and he knew she caught it.

“Mmm yes, I can see it now. Dorian comes home from a long day debating politics with us uneducated Southerners. You at home with a babe in arms and two more at your feet. Demanding he do something about his rotten offspring before you lose your mind.”

“You’re a terrible listener. I said _four_ children,” he retorted, trying not to let himself give into her joking fantasy. “And Dorian’s offspring would be rotten. Could you imagine the mustaches?”

“I know you said four, I just figured you already knew that you counted as one. The moustache would be atrocious, but imagine if they had your nose.”

“My nose is terrible,” he quipped. “I hide the fact it’s this monstrous beak in the middle of my big, dumb face with these tattoos.”

Xander let out a squeal when Iris grabbed his ear and pinched it. “There will be no talking badly about ourselves. Besides, your nose is very much the same as mine so you just called your sister a freak.”

“I did no such thing,” he said. “Your face is rather precious—you look like… well, you look like you.”

“You can say it, I took after father just as much as you did. Thank the Maker though. Mother’s nose was a sight to behold if I remember correctly.”

“Less so, after she saw that mage in Val Royeaux,” Xander said. “Shrunk her nose, tightened her skin a bit… she looks a bit like if Corypheus had fashion sense and a good hairstylist, last time I saw her.”

Iris giggled loudly and nearly dropped Xander’s head against the back of the tub. “She didn’t? Oh Maker, that woman. She never did find anything to be acceptable enough, always had to be better. Nothing was ever good enough.”

“Believe me when I say, Iris, that you weren’t the only one to suffer at her hands,” Xander sighed. “I remember… my seventeenth birthday. She caught me with this boy… Calvin, I believe his name was. And she _screamed_. I’ve never been hit so hard in my life, and I once took a sword to the face.” He indicated the scar over his eye that stretched from his forehead to his cheek. “I don’t know why I thought she would…I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“I take it the idea of you not being interested in settling down, marrying a nice girl from a mage free bloodline, and having babies to further the family didn’t go over well.”

“Well, no,” he murmured quietly, sobering quickly. “She… she didn’t really like anything about me, to be honest, so I leaned into it. I kept everything quiet and locked away; but she found out. She wasn’t happy. Eventually, she had me watched.”

Iris finished rinsing his hair and soon was massaging a fragrant oil through it. She said nothing, only hummed quietly inviting him to continue.

He huffed under his breath; “You don’t _really_ want to hear about poor, sad Xander; lover of men but fulfiller of duty, do you?”

“What ever gave you the idea that I wouldn’t want to? Xander, have I not shown you that I care? That whatever happened in the past has been forgotten. You are my brother and I love you.”

Every wall he erected between her and... _this_ , she soundly tore to the ground. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and he could tell just by looking at his hands that he was shaking. The corners of his eyes stung with unshed tears; “Sorry, Iris. It’s just… you’re the first to care. Fuck, you’re the first to even believe it—”

He cut off, his teeth sinking painfully into his bottom lip. Iris wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against the side of his face. “You don’t have to say anything right now. You can take your time. Sit up though, I’ve been meaning to do something for you.”

He followed her instructions, suddenly curious. He felt her palms flat against his shoulder blades and then a rush of heat surged through his muscles. Her hands never moved and yet he could feel her magic coursing through every part of his back, loosening every knot, some he didn't even realize he had. 

He purred slightly, letting his eyes slide closed; “Damn. That was… damn.”

“Dorian taught me that by the way, just in case you ever feel the need to have more...masculine hands do the job,” she said with a sly giggle.

Xander huffed under his breath— _as if Dorian would ever want me now…_

“What Dorian and I do is none of your business, Iris,” he teased. “Besides, I don’t think...I don’t think I mean as much to Dorian as he does to me.”

She slapped her palm down on the water sending a splash towards his face. “Don’t you dare make that assumption. But I feel I must object to your relationship not being my business. Last I checked, my relationship with Cullen wasn’t any of your business and yet there you were interrogating the poor man.”

“That’s different, I’m your big brother. I am supposed to look after you. Keep you safe.”

“You don't think he’s good enough for me.”

“I don’t think the Prince of Starkhaven would be good enough for you.”

“Oh so Sebastian is good enough for Emma, but not little old me.”

“Emma is my cousin...you are my sister. No one, _no one_ could ever be good enough.”

“Then do you believe me when I say that I feel the same way? Because I do, and Dorian may very well be the only person I deem even slightly worthy of you.”

He smiled, staring at the rapidly-cooling bathwater. He kept the comment about her terrible taste to himself—she wouldn’t appreciate it. She didn’t _know_. She wanted to help, but she didn’t understand.

 _She could,_ an annoyingly pragmatic voice that sounded remarkably like her echoed at the back of his head. _If you told her. She deserves it. You deserve it_. 

He sighed deeply; “Did you feel that scar? The one right at the crown of my head?” He moved her hand to where it lay, he knew it was jagged and uneven, the skin around it slightly raised. She ran her fingers over it gently.

“Tell me.”

“His name was Lord Moreau,” he began softly, remembering the big hand over his face like it had been days, and not nearly a decade. He remembered the sharp pain of being slammed against the window sill, the hot blood running down his neck. “He was forty-one, I was eighteen. And he gave it to me when...when it happened.”

Iris took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to his head. “Wash up, I’m going to have food brought to my room. You should have something in your stomach for this.”

Iris swept out of the room, not looking back. Xander scrubbed a handful of water over his face, balking when he found it pleasantly warm. 

_Strange… I could have sworn it had long gone cold._


	41. Chapter 41

Iris was browsing through the library when she noticed Dorian grinning at her. He sauntered over and leaned against the bookcase, giving her a quick once over.

“Yes Dorian?” she asked in mock annoyance.

"A curious thing happened the other day. I was here reading—or well, trying to read; the selection is abysmal—when my eyes were drawn to quite the activity out on the ramparts."

"I'm afraid you will have to be more specific than that, Dorian."

"Very well, I shall be blunt; you were locked in a battle of tongues with the Commander and I must say, I think you were winning."

Iris blushed pink and pursed her lips together tightly. _Way to keep it discreet. Does all of Skyhold know by now?_

“The Commander and I—” she began carefully, remembering the speech she had prepared for when gossip arose.

“My dear Iris, what sort of fish wife do you take me for? I’m not about to go running through the halls telling people you’ve...what happened to your hand?” He indicated the tight bandage Iris had wrapped around her hand. There was a slight red stain coming through on her palm.

“A tea cup exploded in my hand,” she stated bluntly.

“How did you manage that?”

“It was in my hands and I was angry. Tea boiled, cup exploded, my hand took the damage.”

He took her hand into his own and unwound the cloth from it, tsking at her the entire time. “Why didn't you apply healing magic?”

“I’m no good at closing skin. Plus, it’s pretty deep.”

“And you couldn't go to the healers?”

“They have more important things to worry about.”

Dorian pressed his palm against hers and a blue light radiated between them. Iris felt the familiar sensation of her skin healing back together. When he pulled his hand away all that was left was a faint pink scar that she knew would fade quickly. “What could have made you so angry as to boil a cup of tea in your own hands.”

“You loved Felix didn’t you? Like a brother?” she asked, looking up at him with bright eyes.

“I never thought of it like that, but I suppose—well yes, Felix was like a brother to me. I cared for him greatly.”

“Imagine if Felix had told you that someone had hurt him and that he blamed himself for it happening. That no matter what you said to him, he would never believe for one instant that he didn't deserve what was done to him.”

“Iris, I don’t understand…”

“If you care for my brother, be gentle with him, all right? Just...be good to him. Please.”

Dorian quirked a perfectly-groomed brow at her, concern alight in his eyes; “Did something happen? Iris, is he alright?”

“He might be, someday.”

“Iris, you’re scaring me,” he pleaded. “Please, is it something from the Mire? Or from Adamant—we’re still getting issues from that. Or did someone make an attempt? Are they after—”

Iris pressed a hand to her shoulder at the mention of Adamant, her fingers lingering as though remembering something. “It’s not my secret to tell, Dorian. Physically, he’s fine. But he will tell you when he’s ready. I’m just expressing...my sisterly concern. That’s all.”

~~~

They could go over reports of troop movements and building projects on the Storm Coast or excavation efforts on the Exalted Plains until they were blue in the face, but the small crowd of people _knew_ they were there for one reason and one reason only. 

“Preparations for departure to Halamshiral are well underway,” Josephine said, adjusting a two-inch-thick stack of parchment. The woman had reports for this damn ball coming out her ears. “Rumors are pouring in that the Inquisitor’s arrival is driving demand for the masque—it seems everyone who is anyone will be there.”

“No pressure or anything,” Xander grumbled under his breath. “There’s so many moving parts, Josephine—how are we going to do this? We have to reach the empress before Corypheus!”

“I think our best course of action is to determine _where_ our enemy is hiding,” Josephine answered. 

“There are three major possibilities we might consider,” Leliana interjected. “The assassin could be hiding amongst the guests on the ballroom floor, the empress’s staff about the palace, or—and this is the most likely scenario—among the participants, vassals and courtiers taking part in the peace talks.”

“We shouldn’t discount any scenario,” Emma said, shuffling some of her own reports around. “But I agree with Leliana—the most dangerous place is probably going to be near the empress herself—what better place for an assassin to hide than at her side?”

“I was going to suggest checking the staff,” Alyx added. “Celene has literally _hundreds_ of servants, courtiers, handmaids and vassals around her at all times.”

“Excellent, Alyx,” Leliana said, tucking her hands behind her back. “What a better place for an assassin to hide than the empress’s own household?”

Xander scrutinized the map of the Winter Palace over and over again, along with the small figures that represented each of his high-level agents, advisors, and friends. There was _so much_ to keep track of; “Alright, I suggest we go in teams of four. I’m going to need mobility on the floor if I’m going to be investigating around the palace.”

“That makes sense,” Iris interjected, leaning over the blueprint. “I think I’ll be with Josephine in the empress’s negotiations; we can serve as a diplomatic attaché.”

“As much as I appreciate your dedication, Iris, that is sadly out of the question,” Josephine said. “We can’t have our entire diplomatic force in one place. I will be stuck in the negotiations with the empress, the Grand Duke, and Ambassador Briala.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone in there,” Cullen grumbled. Gerhardt nodded in agreement. “I don’t like Iris being alone on the floor either.”

“I can perfectly capable of handling a few nobles, thank you,” Iris snapped playfully. “I am rather tired of this overprotective streak everyone seems to have over me.”

“Iris, please take this as the genuine concern that it is,” Xander said. “But I have to agree with Cullen. I am going to be a target, and there’s no telling what some people will do to get to me.”

“And Josephine could be in incredible danger if she’s close enough to Celene,” Emma finished. “So what do you suggest, Cullen?”

“We need to find a way to arrange our people so everyone is safe, but it’s not coming across that we are explicitly paranoid,” Alyx interjected. “Could make things worse, in the long run.”

“I agree,” Xander said with a nod. He fiddled with the small, iron piece meant to represent himself, scratching at the day-old stubble on his jaw. Honestly, he wished he could have Emma, Iris and Alyx with him, but he knew that would be out of the question. The small entourage of Trevelyan sons and daughters was apparently a source of juicy gossip in the courts; even if one wouldn’t be missed, chances were all four of them most definitely would. “I think the best way to arrange it is to make it look as casual as possible, while also playing to our strengths. I’ll take Dorian and Cassandra with me—I have a feeling Cassandra won’t do _too_ much damage if she’s off the floor most of the evening.”

Xander moved the pieces off to the side, allowing his hands to linger on the tiny dragon statuette that he knew represented Dorian. He’d chosen it himself, and had _never_ told Dorian about it. He was too embarrassed. 

“Alright, then I suggest having Cullen on the floor with me,” Iris suggested. “That way he’ll be able to keep an eye on me, plus we’ll have a military presence on the floor.”

“I wouldn’t call me a military presence—” 

“Oh hush; you can be quite intimidating when you want to,” Iris quipped with a handwave. “I would also like to request Vivienne for my team.”

“Granted,” Xander answered. “I can’t think of a better spot for her, outside of negotiations.”

“I would like to be a part of the negotiations,” Emma said. “I can serve as Ambassador Montilyet’s bodyguard, of sorts. Blackwall and Varric, as the most...diplomatically convenient members of the Inquisition, can join me.”

“I like that Princess uses ‘diplomatically convenient’ when ‘respectable’ would have served just fine,” Alyx quipped. “That’s good, though. I can take the Iron Bull and Sera on Leliana’s team. Between all of us and our Spymaster’s other agents, we should be able to get eyes and ears all over the Winter Palace—”

“With no direct connection to the Inquisitor himself,” Leliana interrupted. “Excellent point, Chamberlain.”

“I don't like that you two are starting to complete each other’s sentences,” Emma chuckled. 

“Downright eerie,” Cullen agreed. “I suppose that leaves Solas and Cole, then.”

“Solas will be joining us on the floor. As an elf he has the uncanny ability to go unnoticed amongst the nobility. He will serve as eyes and ears in places where some may be so inclined to discuss things of a more _illicit_ nature,” Iris replied, looking up through her lashes at Cullen as the word _illicit_ rolled off her tongue like caramel.

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck, which had gone preciously red. He cleared his throat, fighting the little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I...er… that leaves Cole, then.”

“Cole has been alarmingly reticent when it comes to matters since he and Iris retrieved Emma from the Fade,” Xander said. “When I asked him about the ball, he simply murmured under his breath about ‘being where he was needed’ and walking away; something tells me he will be present, but something of a wild card. How are we doing on that amulet Solas suggested, Leliana?”

“It’s harder to get ahold of than initially anticipated,” Leliana answered. “Apparently, the process for making it is not... how shall we say, respectable?”

“So, blood magic, then,” Cullen said. “Figures.”

“This is one of those rare cases where I am going to allow the Commander’s initial conclusion of blood magic,” Leliana murmured darkly. “It’s better that way.”

“You mean blood magic is the _lesser evil_ in this case?” Gerhardt suddenly interjected, his blue eyes flashing. Xander jumped—he’d nearly forgotten he was there! “Is this… is this wise?”

“Better than the alternative,” Emma answered with a shrug. “Cole has proven trustworthy, Gerhardt, and he is genuinely concerned about binding.”

“Can you trust this Solas, then?”

“ _I_ trust Solas,” Iris interjected, her voice tinged with vehemence. “He has shown himself to be a capable ally. Not to mention Cole came to him first for help. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Gerhardt raised his hands in front of him as if in surrender; “It’s alright, Iris, I understand. Come to think of it, though, these are all internal affairs for the Inquisition. Is there… is there a reason I’m here?”

“Yes there is,” Iris answered brightly. “Alyx, Emma, and I came up with a solution to the ongoing issue of the pockets of mages and templars still littered about Thedas. It really is a brilliant plan if I do say so myself.”

“Did you just give yourself a genuine compliment?” Alyx asked wide eyed. “I feel so proud I might cry a little.”

“Shut up,” Iris quipped. “Alyx and Leliana have scouts everywhere. They have been sending us reports of the locations of various small groups. Based on Grier’s experiences, we believe that some of them may not even know the conflict has ended. The issue has been not having the right people in place to approach them.”

“I have several mages and templars that have been training together. Learning to cooperate and act as a single unit. What they are lacking is a leader with expertise and one who is both understanding of the role of a templar, and yet still sympathetic to mages,” Emma added, giving her brother a warm smile.

“Me?” Gerhardt seemed taken aback.

“I can think of no one else more suited to the task. Josephine and I will provide you with the documents granting safe passage and sanctuary within the Inquisition,” Iris stated with a measure of pride in her voice. “So, cousin, feel like seeing the world?”

Gerhardt grinned sheepishly, ruffling his short blonde hair; “As long as I never have to attend deadly balls in Orlais, I accept.”

Iris squealed happily and clapped her hands together, her feet tapping out a happy dance. Josephine groaned and rolled her eyes, no doubt this was something she had given up trying to dissuade Iris from doing.

“Then we can have your first assignment before the week is out,” Xander said with a smile, placing a hand on Iris’s bouncing shoulders, the touch stilled her immediately. She froze under his hands, her posture suddenly stiff, and she shrugged his hand off. He felt a bit stung—it had been a long time since she’d rebuffed physical affection from him, but he had to assume she had her reasons and move on. “Is there anything else on the agenda? I’d like to get as much finished as possible, where we’re leaving so soon.”

“Other than a few minor issues which still need time before they can be resolved, that is it,” Josephine answered with a raised brow at Iris. “Even with Iris putting off her fitting until the last possible moment, wardrobe should be completed soon. Everyone will need to have final fittings this week to make sure all is in order. Prince Sebastian has just finalized all his details for the Masque, so he will be leaving with us, though he is attending as separate.”

“We can’t have people believing we have all Marcher nobility in our pockets,” Xander assented. 

“Exactly,” Josephine replied. “We leave in two week’s time. That will put our arrival in Halamshiral at a few days before the Masque. That will give us time to get settled and put our feelers out amongst the nobility.”

“Vivienne told me that more can be accomplished during afternoon tea than in any political summit, if you know what you’re doing,” Iris interjected. 

“Sounds perfect,” Xander said, running his hands through his hair. “Now as much as I would _love_ to agonize over every detail of the ball here and now, I did promise my seamstress that I would report for my final fitting this afternoon.”

“Yes, we should adjourn,” Josephine answered. “On your order—”

“Yes, dismissed.” Xander nodded, pushing away from the table and making a beeline for his chambers. He needed to get away from people for a little while—if he couldn’t get his emotions, his memories… his whole damn _person_ under control, Halamshiral would be nothing short of an over-wrought nightmare.

~~~

Alyx stared in the mirror, a smile spreading across her face. Despite the endless judgmental glances the dressmaker had given her for it, the woman had done an excellent job with the design Vivienne had helped her with. The deep vee of the dress plunged nearly to her navel, and the back exposed almost as much. There was definitely a part of her that was scared shitless about baring this much of herself for all the Orlesian court to see, but it was easily drowned out by how much she _loved_ this damn dress. The fabric flowed like water over her hips, swaying enticingly with each movement. 

The sharp clack of heels on the stone floor of the hallway drew her attention, and she poked her head out of the door. The dressmaker was exiting Iris’s room, striding off down the hall. Alyx grinned and darted out, figuring she’d pop in to get a peek at Iris’s dress (but mostly to show off her own, if she was being completely honest). She pushed the door open, stepping inside without bothering to knock.

“Hey Iris, check out—oh, shit.”

Iris sat on the floor in front of the mirror that had been set up in the middle of the room. She was swathed in a deep crimson fabric that pooled around her. Heavy sobs wracked her body as she sat with her knees pulled to her chest and her face buried in her arms. “Go away.”

“Iris! What—what _happened?”_ Alyx exclaimed, ignoring Iris’s words completely and rushing to her side.

“I thought it would cover them,” she cried out breathlessly. “I thought...I thought I could keep hiding them.”

“Thought it would… _oh,_ ” Alyx said, noticing the four long scars that began at Iris’s left shoulder and ran down her chest, stopping just over her heart. They were reddish and ragged, with an almost sickly black center. 

“I thought I looked so pretty,” Iris hiccuped. “But then...then she said I might want to consider a different design to...to cover them.” Iris resumed wailing, burying her face back into her arms.

“Shit, I am so sorry, Iris,” Alyx murmured, sinking to the floor and wrapping her arms around her cousin, fancy dresses be damned. “For what it’s worth, you look _beautiful.”_

“I don’t feel beautiful, I feel like a failure.”

Alyx couldn’t help the harsh laugh she let out. “If _you’re_ a failure for having those, then what does that make me?”

“No, no you don’t understand. That’s different. You...you couldn't help what they did to you. You survived…” Iris began quickly. “Me...I let the Nightmare hurt me. I failed in the Fade.”

“You’re wrong. It’s not different—your scars are just what mine are: a record of the shit you’ve been through _and survived._ Iris, you kicked the Nightmare’s _ass._ You freaking saved me from myself in there; how could you think that was a failure?”

“The way she looked at them—the disgust in her eyes—I guess. Oh Maker I am so...foolish,” Iris lamented. “How do you do it? How do you stand there and take pride in what so many people find atrocious?”

“Honestly? It’s not remotely as easy as I just made it sound. But I figure maybe if I keep telling myself what I just told you, eventually I’ll believe it. There are definitely some days that I almost do. Other days… other days I drink a lot. Don’t be like me. The point is, don’t let anyone else tell you that your scars are something to be ashamed of. Because they’re _not.”_

“Alyx, I will always want to be like you. You’re strong, brave, resilient, and the person I have always strived to emulate. You might have your faults...we all do. But there is no one in this world I look up to more than you.”

Alyx spluttered open-mouthed, trying to find the right words to respond to that. Eventually she gave up, letting out a slow sigh and shaking her head. “You know I’m actually a complete mess, right? I only look like I know what I’m doing.”

“You do it very well then,” Iris replied with a smile before reaching her arms out to hug her. “I’m always going to look up to you. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I’ll do my best not to let it go to my head,” Alyx said with a grin, hugging her cousin tight. 

~~~

It was really happening. It was hard to imagine, but the weather was finally cooling, and in just about a week they would be leaving for the Winter Palace. For the first time since the Siege of Adamant, every member of the Inquisition was in a flurry of preparation. Outfits had been prepared, dance lessons had been conducted, etiquette had been reviewed. Now, it was just a matter of time. Dorian’s violet-and-gold doublet was safely stashed in his room—he adored it, and the southern seamstress had done a marvelous job of maintaining the Tevinter style. He would, however, admit a touch of curiosity about Xander’s attire. Josephine had decided it would be _delightful_ if no one saw Xander’s outfit, save for the Inquisitor himself and his seamstress. When Dorian had asked the lovely young lady for a hint, she’d only winked and told him that they wouldn’t clash, which didn’t make him feel better. 

So on stealthy feet with mischief in mind, Dorian snuck up to Xander’s chambers during his fitting. He hoped he could sneak a peek at _something_ —possibly get a hint—but it seemed that the girl was too smart for her own good. Whatever dark fabric she’d been working was whisked away and squirreled away under a pile of cloth and material. She chatted amiably with Xander, which distracted her sufficiently enough that Dorian could sneak a proper _look_. 

It suddenly occurred to him that he’d never seen Xander in a proper state of undress. He’d seen him dressed casually and had caught sneaks and peeks here and there, but the broad, bare expanse of muscle and shoulder and back tapering down into a sinful waist was _mouthwatering_. His narrow hips and strong thighs were encased in some buttery, dark leather, and his boots were polished to a mirror shine. With his long hair pulled away from his back, Dorian saw something he’d never seen before—Xander’s tattoos. The man was fairly covered with them, from angular Rivaini designs on his arms to Antivan swirls and curls on his shoulder blades to something that almost looked _Dalish_ at the small of his back. It was clear the seamstress was as flustered as Dorian was, as her giggles were a bit too high and too bright to be casual. 

“I appreciate all your hard work,” Xander murmured softly, but it was so… _distant._ It was almost cold, really. Dorian had never heard him talk like that before—even with the staff. Not since… well, not since Redcliffe. “If you’re done with me, though, you are dismissed.”

“Oh,” the girl replied, a little dejected. “Of course. Excuse me, your Worship.”

She dropped into a polite curtsey, dropping her face to obscure what had to be an impressive blush, brushing past Dorian. Between this and the incredibly cryptic conversation with Iris the day before, he was starting to have second thoughts. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but something wasn’t right. He could absolutely tell once Xander whirled on him, his eyes darkening to something primal...unfamiliar. 

_Lustful._

“So,” Xander purred, pulling his hair over his shoulder to expose the long expanse of bare skin. A serpentine dragon curled in a stylized curve over his heart and shoulder, dropping the tail until it disappeared into the waist of his breeches. “All this flirting business… it’s nice, yes?”

Dorian quirked his brow, crossing his arms. He was suddenly quite curious where this conversation would go; “I would say so.”

“Last time I checked,” Xander continued, stalking towards him, herding Dorian towards that big bed of his. “You were _not_ a nice man.”

“Did I say that?” Dorian riposted, nearly jumping out of his skin when his back collided with the footboard. He tried to maintain his carefully casual demeanor, but with Xander in his space—so tall, so _warm_ —it was hard. Every fiber of his being screamed, _Yes! Yes! This is what we want, so get on with it already!_

“Well, not in so many words,” Xander replied. “But all this talk about being the _evil_ Tevinter, coming to corrupt the sweet and innocent, bumbling Inquisitor… all this talk about _using_ me… I figured you were more than just talk.”

He’d drawn closer. His thigh was pressed between Dorian’s legs, rocking back and forth; those _hands_ were cradling Dorian’s jaw with _just_ enough pressure to give Dorian an illicit thrill. _Oh_ , how he wanted to lean into that touch. He wanted so much to just let Xander spread him out over his bed, pressed into the luxurious pillows and _take him_. 

Instead, he swallowed hard and maintained eye contact; “I like playing hard-to-get.”

It wasn’t a lie. Every man—every person he’d ever thought he could love—it had been _fun_. It had been about pleasure, and nothing more. He’d been everything—an illicit thrill, a port in a storm, a lover on the side—but with Xander it had been different. The slow build was _maddening_ , instead of sweeter for the bitter aftertaste of later rejection. He wanted Xander so badly, and for the longest time, it looked like the man had been willing to give it. Until that moment, and it was too much like home. Something was wrong...

Xander must have taken Dorian’s silence as some sort of consent, because he drew him in for the fiercest kiss he’d ever received. Despite it being mostly tongue and teeth, it was so skillful that fire ran through Dorian’s veins. He rocked into the touch, pressing every inch of his body against the hard planes of Xander’s, sinking his fingers into Xander’s hair. He groaned into Dorian’s mouth, licking long and deep, devouring him. Dorian swallowed Xander’s deep, guttural moans of pleasure and _possession_ , gasping when Xander’s touch went from reverent to bruising. There would be ten perfectly round little marks on Dorian’s hips in the morning, and for once, he didn’t care. 

Xander sighed with contentment, prying Dorian’s lips open with his perfect tongue, and whispered, “ _Dorian_.”

Then, he tasted it—the Antivan brandy Xander favored. It was strong on his breath, and now that he was looking for it, the room reeked of it. Two empty bottles stood proudly on the desk, while a third bottle and an empty tumbler were within easy reach of of the sofa where he’d been sitting. Xander was _drunk_ , and this wasn’t right. 

“Xander,” Dorian murmured, leaning away from his amorous advances. “Not tonight, _Amatus_.”

Xander reacted like a bucket of ice water had been thrown in his face. He stepped back with such a wounded expression, Dorian almost felt bad for stopping him; “Do you… do you mind if I ask why?”

“You’re drunk,” Dorian answered frankly, nodding towards the bottles. “And this isn’t like you… and Iris said—”

“Of _course_ she did!” Xander snapped suddenly, turning from Dorian and raking his hands through his hair. “So, what, you thought you would come comfort the crying victim?”

“What? No! She only implied that something happened—what’s the matter? Maybe I can help?”

“I have to go,” Xander growled, grabbing a shirt from the pile of clothes on the sofa. “I have to… I don’t know. I have to do something.”

Dorian quirked his brow, aiming to lighten the mood; “I’m sure Josephine will be quite peeved if you go do something strenuous with your good breeches on.”

Xander whirled on Dorian with such _anger_ in his eyes, with his jaw clenched and his breath coming in a wet hiss, that he recoiled; “ _Hang_ what Josephine says! I don’t _care_ anymore!”

“Alexander,” Dorian chastised, though he _immediately_ regretted it when he recoiled… actually, physically recoiled from him with such fear in his eyes… “Please. Let’s talk. Please?”

“No,” Xander snapped. “I need to go.”

Dorian tried to respond, but Xander stomped down the stairs, slamming the door so hard it echoed through the bed chamber. Dorian was left with nothing but deafening silence, and nothing to do but wrap his arms tightly around himself and desperately try to convince himself he _wasn’t_ coming apart. 

~~~

Xander had never been so spitting mad before. He felt it curl in his gut, and he suddenly understood why rage demons were made of fire. A small, rational part of him—the part that was screaming to be heard—told him that if Iris had gone to Dorian, it was to help. 

_Well between Cole poking around in my mind and now Iris and her meddling, I have had my_ fucking _fill of that brand of help!_

She would be in her little library—the one she’d been meticulously restoring and cataloging. She would be alone. A part of him—the malicious part—wished her ability to throw fire had been passed onto him as well. He stomped down the stairs _loudly_. There was no way she would miss his approach. When he slammed through the door, for once he was grateful for those creepy veilfire torches—regular lanterns would have reminded him too much of low lighting, just enough to see by… unwanted, unseen, phantom hands crawled over his skin. 

_Quiet, Alexander… we wouldn’t want dear mother to hear, would we?_

“ _You_ ,” he hissed, jabbing an accusatory finger at her. “How _dare_ you?”

Iris stared at him wide eyed, a confused expression across her face. “How dare I what?”

“You _told_ him!” Xander shouted, curling his hands into tight fists. Iris shrank away from his ire, her eyes wide with something that looked like fear. “I told you _in confidence_ … I fucking trusted you, Iris!”

“I didn’t tell anyone _anything_ I swear! I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“Really? Then explain why Dorian came to my room just now wanting to _talk_ ,” Xander hissed. “He’s suddenly all ‘what happened’ and ‘we can fix it’ and ‘this isn’t like you’ and guess what, Iris? You’re the only person I told!”

“I didn’t tell him anything you said to me,” Iris pleaded, tears brimming in her eyes. “I just told him to be gentle with you. That’s all, i was looking out for you.”

He could feel himself shaking. If anger made him grow, he’d have been ten feet tall. If looks could kill, he was sure Iris would be dead on the floor, giving how she shrank away from him. She paled a few shades, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish, and it occurred to him. She was afraid. 

_Good._

“I never wanted him to know, Iris!” Xander screamed, his voice echoing off the stones. “Now he’s going to see me as a victim, and I never wanted that! _Fuck_ , I never wanted you to know, either, but you just _had_ to keep poking and prodding and peeling and now it’s _all I can think about!_ ”

_Please don’t shout, Alexander. It’s unbecoming of a young man of your station…_

“Xander...you’re scaring me...I’m sorry. I swear I was just trying to help.”

“You better be fucking sorry, Iris,” Xander snarled. “I’m fucking _sick_ of your brand of help—the next time you want to interfere in my life, _don’t!”_

Just like that, Iris broke into tears. Ugly sobs wracked her body in a way that made her seem so much smaller than he was. She just curled in on herself and cried. For some reason, Xander was ready to lay back into her, but a sharp yank on the back of his head tugged him out of the room. He froze, his legs moving automatically, lest he crash to the stones below. 

_You have such lovely hair, Alexander…_

“Hey! Whoever is back there, let go _right now,_ ” he demanded.

“Shut the _fuck up_ , Xander,” Alyx growled. Xander could see the other girl—Grier—out of the corner of his eye. Alyx made some gestures he couldn’t see, but could feel, and simply said, “Iris. Basement.”

“On it,” Grier replied, heading for the door he’d just been so unceremoniously dragged from. 

Alyx continued to drag him, despite his protests and how much it hurt his neck, until they were in a quiet corner of Skyhold—Xander’s private wine cellar. She finally let him go, and only the knowledge she could lay him out right there, magic or no, stopped him from throwing one of the mystery bottles at her face. 

Alyx selected one of the bottles, twisting the cork off with a flick of her wrist, and shoved it under his nose; “Drink. Now.”

“You don’t even know what that is,” he countered, crossing his arms. 

“Does it matter?”

Xander shrugged; “Guess not.”

He snagged the stout bottle from her hands and took a long swig, gasping in near _pain_ when it hit his tongue. He snuck a peek at the label and near groaned—it was one of those bottles of “conscription wine.” He was going to regret this.

“So you want to tell me what this is about?” Xander asked. “Or did you just drag me away by my hair like a barbarian for fun?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Xander. You’re welcome to tell _me_ what this is about at any time, but I’m totally fine with less talking and more drinking if you prefer,” Alyx said, grabbing a second bottle for herself and yanking out the cork. 

He shrugged and took another swig; he didn’t know if the nerves in his throat were deadened, or if he just didn’t care, but it was a touch more pleasant the second go; “So you don’t care that I yelled at Iris like a fucking monster? Or that I wouldn’t let Dorian take advantage of me, so I got mad?”

“Of course I care. I’m not holding it against you, though. But neither am I going to leave you in the same room as Iris to keep saying things you’ll regret later.”

He made a noncommittal noise under his breath; “How do you know I’m going to regret that?” 

Alyx didn’t choose to dignify that with words; she just levelled him a _look_ and took another swig of whatever dangerous liquid she was drinking. He scowled back at her and, with all his animal strength, pulled his arm back and threw the bottle as hard as he could. It shattered against the far wall in a shower of glass and mystery-liquor. 

_“Fuck!_ ” he shouted, pressing his hand to his forehead. 

Alyx blinked, took another sip from her bottle and then held it out towards him. “Want another?”

“No,” he replied, clenching his hands into tight fists. The bite of his short nails into the meat of his palm was a grounding pain—a pain he could see. And _feel_ , and not one that just made him feel sick and filthy. 

_If I feel your teeth, young man—_

“Why can’t I get it out of my head?” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut to stem the tears that threatened to fall. “I thought… I thought I’d forgotten. When it didn’t come up in the Fade, I thought that maybe it couldn’t hurt me anymore… _Why_?”

“I would say because you haven’t drunk enough, but we don’t want you turning out like me,” Alyx said with a tight, humorless grin.

Xander let out a huff of what could be laughter, but it just felt cold and empty; “I thought it was over. I thought it was done… when he died, I assumed that he couldn’t _hurt_ me again… But I can’t stop thinking about him. Every touch is him; every _voice_ is him… it’s just a reminder that I’m a failure. I just want it to be _over_ already. When does it stop, Alyx?”

“I wish I fucking knew. But you are not a failure. _Fuck_ that. You’re here, aren’t you? Even if it’s hard sometimes, you are _living your life._ You’re making a fucking difference in the world, working to put shit right. _How_ is that a failure?”

“Because I let things happen to me, Alyx,” he replied, his voice sounding dead and flat even to him. As gross as it was, it reminded him of that tranquil woman in the library. “I’m a background player in my own _fucking_ life, and I just let people _do_ these things to me. And I fucking let them. If I’d been stronger… smarter… _anything_. I could have stopped him.”

“So… I’m a failure too, then?” Alyx challenged.

He froze, staring at her with wide, unseeing eyes. He should have _known_ , and once again he felt that tight fist curl around his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to sob or punch the wall or both; “Fuck, Alyx, I didn’t know…”

She shrugged. “Why would you? It’s not like I walk around with a sign on my forehead.”

“Odd choice of words, considering,” Xander replied, flinching away from his own ill-timed sense of humor. “Sorry, that was in poor taste. And it’s… it’s different, Alyx. He didn’t have any power over me. He didn’t…Fuck, I don’t even know which way is up anymore.”

“What, because he couldn’t smite you into submission, that makes it your fault? No. _Fuck that,_ Xander. Don’t you fucking dare think like that,” Alyx spat, her eyes flashing dangerously.

He paused for a long time, not sure how to continue. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, his teeth grinding together in frustration. Looking back, _every_ aspect of his identity revolved around _this_. His strength, his need to protect, his casual dalliances trying to replace bad memories with memories of beautiful men _he_ chose—everything. He sniffed pathetically, _refusing_ to cry. He couldn’t… 

“Thanks,” he murmured, gesturing between them and the bottles. “You know for… Iris and Dorian want to help, but… I don’t think they can understand. Not like… not like you can.”

“I know what you mean. Grier, she… she wants to know _everything._ Everything that happened to me in there, all that ugly shit she missed out on. It’s not like I _want_ to keep things from her, but talking about it just….” She sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “At least with… with Anders, he could understand.” There was a far away look in her eyes, and she shook her head as if to clear it.

“Yeah,” he said flatly, running his hand through his ponytail. He took a deep breath, trying not to remember that voice whispering in his ear, or the _pain_ , which stuck with him long after the scratches, bruises, rips, and tears had healed. Still, despite the topic, and despite the floodgates opened on his thoughts and memories of _that night_ , he felt lighter, somehow. He turned to Alyx and gave her an affectionate punch in the shoulder. “Thanks, kiddo. I’m… I’m sorry about earlier.”

He expected a punch back, maybe her swearing at him or threatening him with bodily harm somehow—the standard Alyx Displays of Affection. But instead, she swept her arms around him, pulling him into the tightest hug he could remember receiving. He felt an embarrassed flush work his way across the back of his neck—she could definitely feel his shaking. She could absolutely hear the waver in his breath. 

“Do what you have to do, Xander. If you have to cry or punch it out or talk—if you need to sit in silence with all the liquor in Thedas, know that I’m here for you,” she said, running her hands over his back. He stiffened slightly, but allowed the comforting touch, even if it was coming from _Alyx_ of all people. “Iris isn’t the only one in Skyhold who loves you, you know. You’re not alone.”

“Oh, fuck,” Xander chuckled dryly at the mention of Iris. “She’s going to be so _mad_.”

“Just apologize to her, you dummy. She’ll understand,” Alyx retorted. “And you’re distraught, so I’ll let it slide, but talk to her like that again and my punches won’t be _affectionate_.”

~~~

Grier was already back when Alyx returned to her room; she sat in Alyx’s chair with her legs tucked under her, running a brush through her dark hair. 

“Iris?” Alyx asked as she stripped her shirt off, walking towards the dresser.

“She’ll be fine,” Grier responded with a soft smile. “For now, she has a favorite book and a cup of tea.”

“That’s good,” Alyx said, smiling back at Grier as she peeled off her leather breeches in favor of a well-worn pair of soft linen pants. Sighing in satisfaction at her newfound comfort, she collapsed face-first onto the bed, reaching under it to pull out a bottle of Cabot’s mulled wine. She caught Grier’s disapproving look out of the corner of her eye as she took a swig straight from the bottle. _Whatever,_ she thought, _cups are overrated._

Grier set her brush down on the table and walked over to join Alyx on the bed. 

“How’s Xander?” she asked.

Alyx sighed deeply. “He… he’ll be okay,” she said eventually. 

“What happened? I know I haven’t known him long, but… it doesn’t seem like him to yell like that.”

“It isn’t,” Alyx said. “He had his reasons, but they aren’t mine to tell.”

“Of course. Sorry,” Grier said.

“Not your fault. The world’s a shitty place,” Alyx said with a wry grin, propping herself on her elbows and taking another sip of wine. Grier climbed over her, taking the space between Alyx and the wall as she always did. Alyx still felt silly about needing an escape route from her own bed, but the one night she had wound up trapped between Grier and the wall had… not been pretty. Grier wound an arm over Alyx’s back, and Alyx set the bottle on the bedside table and turned to face her. 

“Have I mentioned how happy I am that you’re here?” Alyx murmured. 

“A few times, maybe. But hey, I’m happy to be here,” Grier said, pressing a soft kiss to Alyx’s shoulder. 

Alyx sighed contentedly, relaxing into the bed as Grier’s fingers ran gently over her back. Grier always seemed to be doing that, tracing Alyx’s scars with her fingers as though trying to catalogue them, to memorize every change. Alyx still felt a bit awkward about it, but it did kind of feel nice, so she didn’t tell Grier to stop. Grier’s fingers ran back and forth over the straight lines that crisscrossed Alyx’s back, then over an arc of jagged scars that curved around her side.

“What are these from?” Grier asked, her fingers still hovering over the scar. 

Alyx squeezed her eyes shut forcefully, her hands quickly clenching into fists and then releasing. While she was glad she’d been honest with Xander, their conversation had perhaps dredged up a little too much of the past, enough that it didn’t take much for the memories to overtake her. Flashes of rough stone and cold steel; ugly, sneering voices too close— _too close—_

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She grabbed the bottle of wine and took another deep swig, trying to wash the memories away. 

“Alyx… talk to me, _please_ ,” Grier said, gently but insistently. 

“I can’t. Please, can we just… can we just drop this?”

“Of course,” Grier said, just a bit too obligingly. “You can always just write to _him_ about it later, right?”

“ _What?”_ Alyx said, her head whipping around so she could look at Grier. 

“Anders. He’s ‘Wiggums’, right? I have to assume he is. It’s a cute nickname, really.”

“How did you—you _read my letters?_ Grier… what the _fuck,_ Grier, how could you?” Alyx accused, her mouth gaping open with shock.

“You left them on the desk, Alyx!” Grier said, jumping off the bed and pacing back and forth.

“Yes, because I _trusted_ you not to read my private correspondence!”

“I didn’t even read most of it!” Grier shrieked. “Now though I think maybe I should have, as defensive as you’re getting!”

“ _What?_ It is part of my _job_ to write him, you know.”

“Oh don’t give me that gurn shit, Alyx, you know you’re not writing him about Inquisition business! Just tell me, why is it that you can confide in him, but not me? Do you not trust me anymore?” Grier shouted, slightly hysterical.

“Grier,” Alyx said softly, standing up and moving to close the distance between them. “You know that isn’t it. I trust you with my life.”

“Then why won’t you _talk_ to me? _Eight years,_ Alyx! If I couldn’t be there for you, I at least want to know what I missed, but I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me!”

Alyx closed her eyes, letting out a sharp huff of breath. “This isn’t about me not talking. I’ve talked plenty. I’ve told you about Kirkwall, I’ve told you what happened the night the Chantry blew, I’ve told you about the years travelling with Anders. But just because I won’t give you every single gruesome detail, suddenly I ‘ _won’t talk’_ to you!” Alyx shouted back. “Forgive me for not wanting to relive the most traumatic experiences of my life just so you can feel better about not being there!”

Grier nodded slowly, lips pressed together. “So you didn’t tell him either, then?”

“What kind of question is that?” Alyx asked, frowning.

“Did you talk to Anders about what happened to you in the Gallows, or not?” Grier pressed.

“Grier, you’re being _ridiculous—”_

“Just _answer the question,_ Alyx!”

“YES!” Alyx bellowed. “Yes, I fucking talked to Anders! He was the one who picked up the fucking pieces, so yes I talked to him!”

“ _Why?”_ Grier cried, tears running down her cheeks. “Why can you talk to him so easily, but not me!”

“It’s not about you, Grier! Anders just gets it, he can understand in a way that you…”

“That I can’t,” Grier finished, eyes flashing dangerously. “I see how it is. Have I not been _oppressed_ enough for you, Alyx? Am I less desirable because I have not been _tortured?”_ she asked, anger making her accent more prominent.

“What the _fuck_ kind of question is that, Grier?”

“Do you want to give me another explanation, then? Why you can talk to him so easily, but not me? We used to tell each other _everything,_ Alyx! What happened?”

“What happened,” Alyx echoed flatly. “ _Kirkwall_ happened. The fucking _Gallows._ Eight years happened, Grier! Did you really expect us to just go right back to exactly how we were before, like nothing had changed? It doesn’t work that way. Like it or not, _you weren’t there._ Anders was. So yes, I talked to him. But I’ve put it behind me now and I’d rather not dig it all back up again to ease your conscience!”

Grier stared at her blankly, and Alyx crossed her arms in front of her chest, glaring back. 

“To _ease my conscience?_ Alyx, how am I supposed to be with you if you aren’t honest with me?”

“Alright, you know what? You want honesty, that’s exactly what you’ll get. You asked where these are from?” Alyx spat, holding a hand over the row of scars. “Those are from the sharpened fingers of a Templar’s gauntlet as the fucker held me down on the stone floor of my cell.”

Grier’s eyes went wide as saucers, but Alyx just stared her down, still fuming.

“So there. There’s your precious fucking truth.”

Without waiting for Grier’s response, Alyx flung the door open and stomped out of the room, uncaring of the fact that she was only half dressed. She almost hoped someone would have a problem with it, give her a reason to— _fuck._ She needed something stronger than wine after that bullshit, but she wasn’t certain she could make it to the tavern or even the basement without punching anyone. Bull _had_ offered to help if she ever needed to hit something, after all, and that sounded damn good. The drink could wait, and if Bull was well stocked he could even help with that, too. 

She just hoped she found Bull before she found someone else she wanted to punch. Chamberlain or not, she doubted anyone would be too thrilled at that.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before jumping into this chapter, we want to note that we are not really coming back from hiatus. We have a backlog of finished but unpublished chapters that we will be posting, but we have no plans to finish the work. We burned out on this fic, and we burned out HARD. 
> 
> That said, thanks to everyone who supported us along the way. It was a labor of love, and we'd never have made it as far as we did without you guys!

The route from Skyhold to Halamshiral would be a short one compared to the trek to Adamant, yet Iris almost wished it was the opposite. Leaving Skyhold felt liberating to her. Every moment there only served to remind her of the fight with her brother. His voice still echoed in her mind, despite all her attempts to shake it away.

Xander rode at the front of the convoy, deep in discussion with Josephine. Emma and Sebastian were off to her right, engaged in a conversation that Iris was sure no one but them was meant to hear. Alyx and Grier were to her left, though they were separated by several people and their demeanor seemed more...tense. Iris might have been more concerned about that had she not been so busy glaring at the back of her brothers head. It had been made clear before they set out that Cullen was to ride at the rear and she was to remain in the middle, in an effort to keep her relationship with the Commander a better kept secret. 

_Better to keep you from seeing it you ass!_

She couldn't decide what she was angry at her brother more for--the impromptu interrogation, or the outburst that had followed later. The more she thought about, it she realized she was not angry so much as _hurt._ Hurt that he didn't trust her enough to make the right decisions for herself, and hurt that he would think that anything she did was not out of love and genuine concern. 

Josephine gave a gentle tug to her reins, pulling her horse off to the side until Iris came up even. A soft squeeze of her knees brought her delicate mare into step with Iris’s stallion, who gave a disapproving whicker at the proximity. Flame preferred when Iris rode alone, as though he sensed her nervousness. 

“Iris, Xander would like a word with you,” Josephine informed her. It wasn’t a command; it was a request. Iris sighed and urged Flame forward, shooting Alyx and Grier each a look as she passed. She doubted either of them even noticed she had ridden past them, busy as they were with glaring sullenly into the middle distance. Pulling up even with Xander she remained silent, staring straight ahead. If he wished to speak to her than he would need to start the conversation… _if she’d even deign to give him a response._

“Hey, Iris,” he murmured sheepishly, toying with a stray lock of hair. “Hey listen… We need to talk. About… stuff.”

“Speak, then,” she snapped back. Not being able to look him in the eyes while riding had one benefit--he wouldn’t be able to give her the puppy eyes and weasel his way out of this one.

“Listen, Iris, Josie… well, I understand you’ve been going through some shit--sorry, stuff--lately, and I was an ass. I wish I’d trusted you,” he said, utterly sincere. “I wish I could take it all back, but… I can’t. And all I can tell you is that it’s a part of my life I wish I could leave behind; I don’t _want_ to be a victim, Iris, but I am.”

“We all have parts of the past we’d like to forget,” Iris replied, her hand instinctively reaching to touch her shoulder. Sometimes she swore she could feel them even through fabric, as though they were deep gouges in her flesh. 

“Yeah, Josie told me about that,” he sighed deeply. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How did she find out?” Iris asked frantically, accidentally tugging on the reins in her panic. 

Xander chuckled dryly; “Turns out, when you throw a seamstress out in a rage during a fitting, it makes it back to the person who pays their salary. I wish you’d said something, Iris. You know I’m here for you, right? And you’re going to look beautiful--I’m sure of it.”

“I didn’t throw her out in a rage...I very politely asked her to leave. Not to mention I never would have thrown her out if she hadn't so tactfully mentioned that perhaps I might want to cover up my ‘noticeable injuries,’” she growled out.

Xander rolled his eyes with a huff; “She never should have said that. It was none of her business. But that still doesn’t answer the question--apparently, Josie only found out because of the seamstress, and you didn’t tell _anyone_. Why did you try and hide it?”

“Because...because I felt like a failure for even having them. I didn’t even know they were there at first. The Fade does strange things to you. In my Nightmare I bled; out of the Fade, it was too late to even attempt to heal them properly.”

He casually ran his hand over his forearm, pulling his jacket sleeve back until he revealed the awful, ugly scars that criss-crossed his arm. They were less puckered than before, perhaps, but they would never heal properly. He would have them until he died; “If anyone here understands what it means to be hurt by a Nightmare, it’s me, Iris. Fuck, _you_ had to free me! No one else could. You healed me as best you could. And _I’m_ supposed to protect _you_! I’m supposed to protect _everyone_! It’s my job… and I failed. So believe me, little sister. I understand.”

“You can’t protect me from the world Xander, try as you might. And you aren’t doing me any favors by lying to me and saying that you’re ok…”

“It’s not something I tell anyone,” he retorted, perhaps a little sharper than he intended, if his visible wince was the be believed. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told who… who _believed_ me when I told them it happened. After years and dozens of voices--our own Mother included--telling you that it was shameful, or you wanted it, or you should have expected it… I don’t know, you sort of stop trying to tell _anyone_.”

“I will never lie to you and say I understand, because I can’t. I can only be there for you, but that is only if you let me. You try to protect me from your past, but all you’re doing in the end is shutting me out.”

“I don’t ever want to do that,” he assured, reaching across the space between them and grasping her hand in his, giving a gentle squeeze. She returned the show of affection while she waited for him to continue. “For what it’s worth, Iris, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you--in every regard. I’m sorry I kept secrets and I’m _especially_ sorry I yelled. I said some things I regret, and I never want to be that… that monster again.”

“You weren’t a monster, more like an ogre really,” Iris said with a smirk. “I’m sorry as well. It wasn’t my place to say anything to Dorian, honestly I know I overstepped my bounds there. I’d love to claim temporary insanity but let’s face it, my mind is a bit too sharp for that.”

Xander chuckled lightly, patting her hair lightly; “No harm done. Well, except my relationship with Dorian.”

“Oh please, give him the smolder and then plant one on him. Talking can happen later.” 

He sighed wistfully, his eyes a little sad; “I think I love him, Iris.”

“I know you do. I might have known before you. But that’s just because I’m better at reading everyone else’s feelings than my own,” she intoned sadly. 

“Heh, speaking of your feelings, I never did apologize to the Commander, did I?” Xander laughed. “Should I stop now and give him my most heartfelt plea for forgiveness?”

“First tell me one thing, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Always,” he answered. “What’s on your mind?”

“Do you really truly approve of him? Are you actually happy for me?” she asked with wide-eyed sincerity. 

He heaved a great sigh before giving her a playful nudge on her shoulder, taking care not to dismount her; “Iris, even a blind idiot like myself can tell he makes you happy. He’s a good man--honest and gentle and kind--and I am _so thrilled_ that you two found each other. So in short, yes. I approve. Wholeheartedly.”

Iris forgot for a moment that she was on horseback in an attempt to hug her brother. Unfortunately, when her knees shifted, Flame took great umbrage with the sudden change and nearly tossed her from the saddle. Xander made a noise of fright before diving across the space to yank on the stallion’s reins, righting Iris just in time. 

“Easy there,” Xander murmured, as much to Iris as to her mount. “Don’t need my Envoy getting trampled before we even reach Halamshiral.”

Flame shot the most offended look at Iris, making a grunt of disapproval at her. Iris planted her fists on her hips; “Hey, mister. I gave you three sugar cubes before we left, so I don’t want to hear it!”

“Three? Iris, you’re going to spoil him,” Xander laughed. 

“Well, he deserves it for putting up with me,” Iris replied. Flame shook his head, letting out a great snort. “For the most part.”

Xander shook his head and rolled his eyes before turning to a young scout. He murmured something in her ear before she gave a sharp salute and yanked her mount about to ride to the back of the column. A few moments later, Cullen’s massive black steed pulled up even with Xander’s. 

“Is there something you needed, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, giving a little tug when his stallion tried to nip at Xander’s mare. Apparently, it was how that beast showed affection. 

“Actually, yes,” Xander replied. “Just wanted to say sorry.”

“Sorry?” Cullen pressed, canting his head in confusion. 

“For yelling. For interrogating you. You know…”

“Oh. Alright,” Cullen replied with a short shrug. 

“Alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Cullen made to turn for the back of the column again-- _that was the end of the conversation?_

“Maker’s Breath, what was that?” Iris asked incredulously.

“An apology?” Xander answered with a shrug.

“You said you would give him your most heartfelt apology. I expected a little more than ‘sorry for yelling.’” 

“Hey, that was _incredibly_ heartfelt,” Xander riposted with an upturned nose and an offended snort. “Someone as _verbose_ as you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“If you weren’t riding a horse I would smack you right now,” she responded dryly. 

“Problem is I’m a better rider, so you’d never catch me, anyway,” he teased, poking her in the ribs. Flame shook his head, most likely to dislodge some of the snow that fell off the trees onto his head. “See, even Flame agrees.”

Cullen gave a little chuckle and shook his head; “You two are impossible.”

~~~

Sebastian had very kindly offered his chateau in Halamshiral for their lodgings, and Emma was partially excited, but mostly nervous. Sebastian was giving her these _looks_ that could only be interpreted one way, and the rank-and-file were starting to notice. With his attentions and the fine clothing Josephine had acquired for her, her nickname of “Princess” was starting to ring a little bit… prophetic. 

And it scared her. 

The Vael chateau was Orlesian in construction, with sweeping archways and grand columns--it was quite beautiful, if modest compared to the surrounding homes. The Inquisition had come with a veritable army of soldiers, handmaids, servants and spies--and yet Sebastian had been prepared. Several grooms were prepared to receive their mounts upon their arrival, and for a brief moment they were buried by a contingent of servants to unload everything. Vivienne had already assumed a position of authority as she directed the pair of handmaidens with her trunks. Emma rolled her eyes fondly--they were in Halamshiral for a maximum of a week, and yet Vivienne had insisted they all bring what felt like a month’s worth of clothing, including their gowns for the ball. 

“Your Highness,” an older elf greeted, her Starkhaven accent thick and warm. Her brown eyes sparkled in rich, dark skin, and her greying, tightly-coiled hair was pulled back into a neat bun. “We’re honored to welcome you back to the estate.”

“Thank you, Donella,” Sebastian answered, sweeping the woman into a gentle hug. “It’s good to be back. Thank you for agreeing to take care of my guests during my stay.”

“It’s an absolute pleasure to host the Inquisition,” Donella replied with a polite curtsey. She clapped her hands sharply, and two maids snapped to attention. With quick direction, the girls were sent back into the house, but for what purpose, Emma couldn’t guess. She didn’t have time to guess, as Donella had turned her sharp eyes onto her. “Oh my, is this her?”

Emma cleared her throat; “Emma Trevelyan, Battlemaster of the Inquisition. It’s an honor.”

“The honor is mine, Lady Trevelyan,” Donella said softly, taking Emma’s hand in her’s. “My goodness, aren’t you pretty--too pretty for our roguish prince.”

“ _Donella_ ,” Sebastian chuckled. 

Emma flushed, averting her eyes; “Thank you. I don’t think so, but--”

“Modesty is becoming of a young lady,” Donella reprimanded. “Self deprecating is _not_. You will accept compliments when they are given.”

“Er--yes ma’am,” Emma responded, going to sudden, sharp attention. 

“And your Highness, don’t let her wear this cloak to the palace,” Donella continued, rubbing the white fur between her russet fingers. “The fennec is lovely and practical, but rabbit fur is in fashion at the moment. Unless the lady cannot abide rabbit fur, in which case the delicacy might be appealing.”

“No, I can deal with rabbit, thank you,” Emma sighed, trying not to giggle when Sebastian rolled his eyes. 

“Donella, do you mind summoning a few people to show our guests to their quarters?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Emma’s shoulder. 

“Of course, Highness,” she replied with a knowing look at Sebastian’s wandering hands. “And the lady Battlemaster?”

“Oh, I have Emma well in hand,” Sebastian said, waving off his servant. “She will be fine in my care.”

Donella gave Sebastian a knowing look before bustling off to meet her staff; Emma quirked her brow at Sebastian as he led her towards the house. 

“She seems… awfully familiar with you,” Emma noted. 

“Donella has been with my family for ages,” Sebastian said with a laugh. “She was nanny to me and my brothers; judging by the way my father always treated her, I have a sneaking suspicion she was his nanny as well. Neither of them ever confirmed or denied it.”

“So she’s just permanently on staff?” Emma asked, sighing with relief when he brought her into the pleasantly heated foyer. 

“No,” he answered, sweeping her cloak off her shoulders with gentle hands. They were warm and rough on the tips of his fingers, and she shivered when they brushed against her bare neck. Only the knowledge they were most definitely _not alone_ kept her from actively leaning into the touch. That, and the fact that he didn’t let the touch linger. At all. “She retired sometime ago--while I was in the Chantry, I believe. She lives in the chateau with her family, for the most part; we’re guests of hers, when you think about it.”

“She has family here?”

“The two girls she was with outside; those are her oldest granddaughters. Nirena and Sorcha, I believe. Either way, don’t let her intimidate you. She’s sweet, as long as you’re not me.”

Emma snorted under her breath, but was absolutely flabbergasted by the inside of the chateau. The exterior was Orlesian, but inside it was pure Starkhaven. She remembered the way Fergus would talk about Starkhaven--with its furs and tartan patterns; its wolves and rolling green hills… he always made it seem so warm and inviting. She could believe it, seeing the interior. The cool gold inlays and white marble were softened with warm decor. A merry fire crackling in the hearth under an oil portrait of a man in--sweet Maker, the man was in a skirt!

“You can go ahead and laugh,” Sebastian chuckled. “That’s my father--Angus Vael.”

“Why is he in a skirt?”

“Kilt, my darling,” Sebastian corrected, though it was with a playful roll of his eyes. “Traditional Starkhaven garb and I thank the Maker every day they are no longer in fashion _at all_. I don’t have the legs for it.”

“Don’t be so modest; you have fantastic legs,” Emma riposted, trying to conceal the blush at being called his ‘darling.’ She was pathetic. 

“Well, then, I should put them to use,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“What about everyone else?” she asked, taking in the vaulted ceilings. A fresco of Andraste leading the slaves out of Minrathous took up the majority of the space--she was sure Dorian would adore it. 

“The staff will take care of them,” Sebastian assured. “Come. I want you to myself for a spell.”

She flushed scarlet at the implication, but Sebastian was too proper--too sweet and _appropriate_ \--for that sort of thought. He didn’t say much, but he was wistful as he led her through the halls. His gaze would linger on a gouge in an end table, or a scratch on a window… he turned crimson at a scorch mark just behind a tapestry, and Emma found she _had_ to know the story. 

“Did you spend a lot of time here?” she asked. 

“Not really,” he answered on a sigh. “But some of my fondest memories are at this place. I found some pretty incredible hidey-holes when I was a lad.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Emma said, grinning up at him. 

“Why Lady Trevelyan, you wouldn’t be trying to _seduce_ me, would you?” Sebastian teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “How _improper_!”

“You watch it, Sebastian Vael, or I will make this Orlesian winter look like Tevinter summer. Do not test me.”

“Mm, perish the thought,” he murmured. With a quick glance down the hall, he gently pressed her into a bare stretch of wall, lining his body up with hers until they touched, chest to thigh. He lowered his head until his breath brushed against her neck and she could _feel_ his grin against her skin. “I was only teasing, sweetheart, but please. Allow me to make it up to you.”

She turned towards him like a daisy to sunlight, and he captured her chin in a gentle-but-firm grip. She gasped at their sudden closeness as he rubbed that perfect nose against her’s. Emma tilted her chin slightly, and that gave him the opening he needed to close those last few fractions of an inch. 

Their first kiss had been chaste, and full of barely-contained relief. Their second had been angry, connected by passion and little else. Their third had been an apology. _This_ kiss, though… it was perfect. Sebastian’s desire was like a dog straining at the end of a leash, and she could feel that ferocity behind the curtain. He slid his hand along the curve of her jaw until his fingers could twist into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging sharply. She gasped at the sudden sting, but she flushed when she found she actually _liked_ it. She parted her lips on a small, soft moan, and it was that tiny sound that snapped the leash. 

He pressed into her, shoving his thigh between her legs, fairly lifting her off the ground. She rocked against him, gripping the back of his coat like she might float away without it. His kiss had evolved from something soft and affectionate to something _feral_ \--lips and teeth and tongue, pulling and tugging and _biting_ … she felt overwhelmed. She sank her fingers into his hair and whimpered, trying to pull him closer--the tightest embrace felt like too much distance; despite his rough treatment, he still held her like she was something infinitely precious. The dissonance was _delicious_. 

She wasn’t sure how far she would have let him take it--she was sure he had _ideas_ when his hand started to wander, ghosting over the top of her thighs and trailing dangerously close to her center. She was ready to let him--right there, in that very _very_ public hallway--when they were interrupted by a strangled squeak. 

Iris was staring, her eyes as wide and round as saucers; “Oh Maker I am so sorry...but Xander needs the Battlemaster and...I’m just going to leave now. Ummm five minutes give or take if you want to continue this...which I’m sure you do and...I’m walking away now.”

She shuffled away, moving too quickly to even be _pretend_ casual. Emma felt herself flush darker, and Sebastian buried his face in the crook of her neck. He was laughing--more like giggling, really--and he hadn’t loosened his hold on her. His arms snaked around her waist, holding her close to his chest. 

“I suppose,” she said around a suddenly _very_ dry throat. “That’s my cue… duty calls, you know.”

“Shame,” he replied, pressing a quick but _far_ from chaste kiss to her lips. His tongue curled out to swipe across her bottom lip, and she nearly jumped. He purred deep in his throat when he took a deep breath along her jaw. “I suppose I’ll have to show you your room later.”

When they finally separated, she felt a strange hollow feeling. Her heart pounded in her chest when she thought of that _kiss_ , and she idly wondered where he learned _that_. She also knew that Alyx would absolutely find out, and then she would never hear the end of it. 

~~~

After showing Alyx and Grier to their suite, the servant retreated with a polite reminder to call if they needed anything. The room was utterly silent in the wake of the girl’s departure. Alyx stood with her arms crossed, posture tense as she appeared to survey their accommodations. The room was decorated in the simple but rich style characteristic of Starkhaven; the bed was piled with pillows and blankets and furs, and looked utterly _divine._

Grier sighed quietly as she took in Alyx’s rigid posture. She had been looking forward to this for weeks, ever since Alyx had invited her to come. They were here on Inquisition business, yes, but she had planned on mixing that with some pleasure. She’d been thrilled when Sebastian had been kind enough to assign her and Alyx to the same suite, despite the unofficial nature of their relationship. Maker, but it still felt odd to refer to him as simply _Sebastian._ Mierda, the man was the _Prince_ of Starkhaven! Grier could just imagine her father’s face at hearing her refer to the Prince of Starkhaven so casually.

Of course, she and Alyx had to have the one of the biggest fights they’d ever had _right_ before they left for Halamshiral. Grier felt nearly sick remembering it. Had she completely lost her mind? She knew she shouldn’t have said half those things, should not have pressed like that, but she just felt so unsure about their relationship now, and when she’d found those letters to Anders… well, she’d lost it. She hated feeling like she was walking on eggshells around Alyx. It was so _wrong._ Alyx had been her best friend, always, long before they’d been involved romantically. But now they’d been robbed of eight years, and Grier had to come to terms with the fact that she no longer knew everything there was to know about Alyx. That there were, perhaps, other people who knew her better now. 

Even so… they still had _something._ That much she knew. As much as Alyx had changed, Grier still loved her as much as she always had. They could fix this, she knew they could. She also knew that Alyx would not be one to pass up the opportunity presented by the utterly _amazing_ looking bed before them. 

Grier took a measured step forward, sliding her hands over Alyx’s hips and leaning forward to press a tender kiss to her neck. For a split second Alyx leaned into her, and Grier hoped things might be okay between them. But then Alyx’s shoulder dropped away from her lips, and Alyx twisted out of her grip, putting space between them once more. 

“Not right now, Grier.”

Grier let out a slow breath, and tried again. “You have _seen_ that bed, right?”

“Yes, I do have eyes, Grier,” Alyx said sullenly. 

“Okay,” Grier said with a soft laugh. “Who are you, and what have you done with Alyx? The Alyx I know would never pass up an opportunity like this.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Alyx said, and after staring at her long enough for the words to sink in, turned towards the door again. “I’ll be back later; I have to meet with Leliana.”

~~~

“It was so wonderful of you to join me this afternoon, Marquise Mantillon,” Xander said with a wide smile. It was calculated. _Everything_ about this encounter was calculated--including the carefully-casual manner in which he was dressed. “I understand you are quite busy with the masque’s quick approach.”

“It is my pleasure, Inquisitor,” the Marquise replied, folding her hands delicately in her lap. Xander was quite used to the full-face masks of the Orlesian nobility, but to hear that slightly-muffled voice come out of the unmoving porcelain mask was still a bit unnerving. “I must see to it that you are moving in Orlais’ best interest.”

“Orlais’ war is everyone’s war, Marquise,” Xander offered. “It is my duty to see that the Empire is in her strongest state before moving forward.”

“Do you have a favorite for the throne, Inquisitor?” Mantillon asked.

It took all of his training to not pull a face. _This is a test._ “There are benefits to the stability that Celene offers.”

“Some claim stability is simply complacency tied in a pretty bow; do you agree?”

“Considering it is my job to bring stability to Thedas, most would say no,” Xander replied delicately, choosing his words with the greatest care. The Marquise was a powerful member of the Orlesian court, and most would say she knew more about the Game and its players than even the Council of Heralds… or the Empress.

“The Grand Duke has the Empire’s armies,” Mantillon replied easily, as if she was commenting about how lovely the snow was.

_Damn. How do I even respond to that?_ Xander cleared his throat and smiled placidly; “The strength of the Empire does indeed lie in her armies; almost as much as in her courts.”

It was impossible to tell Mantillon’s reaction with that mask; he figured that was rather the point. He almost wished he had the Bull with him, if only because that big Qunari was so much better at reading people. Xander almost wished _he_ had a mask to hide behind, but Josephine had been clear--the Inquisitor and his advisors would not be masked at any time. Iris had agreed--those who refused to wear masks declared themselves _above_ the Game, such as the Chantry, the Grey Wardens, and now the Inquisition. 

“Her courts are not what they used to be,” Mantillon sighed in a very put-upon, dramatic manner. “It seems these days, they’ll let anyone play the Game. I remember a time when you had to be of _proper stock._ ”

Xander quirked his brow, trying to remain as neutral as possible, as he considered his next play. Iris would make this so much easier--he may have had more experience in talks such as this, but she had better people skills. His technique of act like an idiot and hope everyone finds you adorably incompetent wouldn’t work there. 

“But enough of such unpleasantness,” Mantillon finally responded after a lengthy silence. “You are not among the courts _yet_ , my boy. How are you enjoying Halamshiral? Have you seen the Winter Palace?”

“We passed it on our way here,” Xander answered with his most sincere fake grin. “It is as lovely as the stories tell.”

“You are a very...articulate young man,” Mantillon said. “So tell me of the famous Trevelyans of the Inquisition; I so looked forward to meeting them. I’ve heard the most delightful stories.”

As if on cue, the girls filed in one-by-one. Iris was red in the face; Emma’s hair was mussed and she wore a somewhat dazed expression; Alyx’s face was stormy and ruddy with emotion. Xander could have throttled them--at least they _looked_ moderately presentable. Except Emma. But when one is introduced as Battlemaster, a sloppy ponytail is expected. Xander eyed the hem of Iris’s full skirt and prayed to whatever deity would listen that she was wearing shoes. 

“Ladies,” Xander said brightly, hoping his smile wasn’t too pained. “Just in time; this is Marquise Mantillon. She has decided to...pop in for a visit.”

Alyx quirked her brow and pursed her lips. Xander prepared for _some_ type of disaster before she plastered on the most unnerving, Cheshire smile he’d ever seen; “Marquise. It’s so wonderful for you to join us this afternoon.”

Xander resisted the urge to cant his head askance; if sullen, silent Alyx was scary, this fake-bubbly, effervescent Alyx was _terrifying._

“A pleasure, Marquise,” Iris interjected with a delicate curtsy. Xander sighed with relief when he saw her silver shoes--they had a very slight heel on them, which meant she was practicing. Which was good. _Everything will be fine_. “You must forgive our appearances; we have just come off the road, after all.”

“Not at all,” the Marquise replied. In her generic polite tone and the blank, full face mask, it was impossible to discern her level of disdain. A brief note of panic hung in Iris’s eyes before it was replaced with passive neutrality. Xander probably only caught it because he knew Iris so well, but the Marquise was being so reticent it was impossible to tell. “I did show up unannounced, after all. I wanted to meet the famed Trevelyans of the Inquisition.”

He could see about a thousand questions in Emma’s eyes, but his Aunt Emilie was very Orlesian; she would have had Emma _marinated_ in the Game, even if she was in the Circle. Instead, she snapped into a sharp salute; “It is a pleasure, Marquise.”

“The Battlemaster, yes?” Mantillon asked. Emma stiffened further, like she was being inspected. “Too lovely to be a Templar.”

“Former Templar, ma’am,” Emma replied. “Knight Enchanter for the Ostwick Circle of Magi.”

“Knight Enchanter, hm? That means you are a mage? How shocking.” The Marquise’s voice implied she didn’t find it shocking at all. 

“Actually, Emma specializes in ice magic,” Alyx interjected with that too-bright smile of hers. “I’m the shocking one.”

Emma and Iris stifled snorts of laughter; Xander nearly choked. The Marquise looked unaffected. “You must be the Chamberlain. How very...traditional. Internal affairs, no?”

“You could say that,” Alyx responded with an unsettlingly demure smile. For once, Xander was nearly caught off guard. He wasn’t entirely sure _what_ Alyx’s official role was. He had to trust Leliana on that one. 

“My name is Iris, Envoy to the Inquisition,” she said with a curtsey. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Ah, the little sister,” the Marquise said coolly. Xander made a noise in the back of his throat, and Iris’s eyes widened noticeably. They’d hoped to keep it a secret, to avoid the target on her back, but someone _knew_. Enough that it got back to the Marquise. “They are lovely, Inquisitor. I look forward to seeing how they play under better circumstances.”

“The girls thrive on being prepared,” Xander replied. “Is it time for your departure already?” 

“Unfortunately,” Mantillon said with a sigh. Xander helped her stand from the couch, allowing her to place her delicate hand at the crook of his elbow. “I do have some preparations to complete; I just wanted to see the famed and delightful Inquisitor in person. And you _are_ delightful; you make an old woman feel young again, with that smile of yours.”

“Well, I did so enjoy your visit, Marquise,” Xander said with a wide grin, “And I do look forward to our dance.”

_One does not play the Game unless one dances with the Dowager…_

He could feel her eyes on him, appraising and assessing his reactions, before she finally responded; “I didn’t know you would play the Game so well, Inquisitor. Remind me to speak with your ambassador at the ball; I do look forward to seeing you again.”

“And I you,” Xander responded with a low, polite bow. “ _Au revoir_ , Marquise.”

When the old noblewoman left, Xander felt a wave of relief as he made his way back to the sitting room. The girls were bent low, talking about something in conspiratorial voices. He didn’t mean for them to walk in on him and the Marquise, but apparently it worked in his favor. 

“So when you said Marquise Mantillon, did you mean _the_ Marquise Mantillon? The legendary Widow of the Orlesian courts?” Emma asked.

“What is she, on her seventh husband, now?” Alyx interjected.

“Ninth, actually,” Iris corrected. “And we wanted to keep our relationship a secret, so either she is _very_ well connected--”

“Or the nature of our relationship has spread far beyond Skyhold, I’m afraid,” Xander sighed. He sank into the couch, rubbing at his temples. “It wasn’t all for naught, though. I did learn some valuable information, and this gives us an opportunity to discuss the goings on at the ball.”

“Yes,” Iris said, sinking into one of the plush chairs. “Have you… decided?”

“I don’t think it’s my decision to make,” Xander protested. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Alyx said, sitting on the arm of the chair that Iris occupied. “Orlesian nobility has been deadlocked since you accepted the mantle of Inquisitor. Gaspard and Celene will not come to a peaceful agreement, no matter how talented our Ambassador is.”

“Briala’s presence is not doing anything for the Empire’s stability, either,” Emma interjected. “While I agree with her ideals, in most regards--”

“Her presence is doing more harm than good,” Iris finished. “I agree. So what are our options?”

“Well, Gaspard is Celene’s only heir, and she’s not getting any younger,” Emma said. “I think no matter what we decide, succession is going to be an issue. We also can’t overlook the fact that the Chevaliers follow Gaspard, not Celene.”

“Gaspard is still the heir?” Alyx asked. “You sure?”

“The title Grand Duke says he was a prince, and the rightful heir, before Celene’s coup,” Iris explained. “He was technically supposed to be Emperor, but Celene won over the Council of Heralds.”

“So you’re suggesting Gaspard, then?” Xander asked. 

“Not exactly,” Emma answered. “Gaspard is military--he appeals to the Chevaliers by claiming to the return to the glory of Drakon and the expansion years.”

“Then what about Celene?” Xander suggested. “She is the rightful Empress, and she didn’t start the civil war.”

“Ah yes, Celene,” Iris sighed. “Most Orlesians believe conquest is the only way an Empire can be strong, and Celene has been seeking ways to unite Thedas. She looks for peace with nations that were once Orlais’ enemies. So she’s not exactly the Golden Girl of the populace.”

“Not to mention the affair,” Alyx interjected. 

“Affair? Did I miss something?” Xander asked. 

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Alyx said wistfully. “It was quite the scandal; apparently, Celene and Briala were lovers back in the day. In _Orlais_ of all places; the Empress and an elf? It could have destroyed Celene.”

“Is that why she broke it off?” Xander asked, furrowing his brows. 

“That, we’re not sure of,” Alyx answered. “The only thing we know about Briala at this point is that she organized the elves of Halamshiral into a personal army. Celene was looking for her alliance in the war, which just added to the scandal.”

“A personal grudge and an army of elves at her command,” Xander mused. “A promising lead. So I wanted your opinion before I brought it up with the others; I think the best course of action is to try for an alliance.”

The girls went silent, staring at their hands. 

“That… that may not be possible, Xander,” Iris said, the first to speak. “I can understand why you would want to, but--”

“Orlesian royalty might not stop bickering until we _make_ them stop, and that might mean slapping them down,” Alyx finished. 

“So you disagree with me?” he asked. 

“No,” Emma answered. “And if it’s an alliance you seek--Orlais ruled by a united force could be a powerful image and work in our favor--we’re with you.”

“You’re just telling me to be realistic,” Xander said. “I understand.”

“Good,” Iris finished. “Also, is that orange tea? I’ve heard it’s a specialty in Starkhaven and I’ve wanted to try it for months!”

“Help yourself,” Xander chuckled, pushing the pot towards her. “Best we gird ourselves, ladies. The ball looks like the event of a lifetime.”

Alyx folded her arms and stared grimly out the adjacent window; “Assuming we have our lives by the time it’s over.”

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a tip: never EVER make the offhanded comment that 'hey, your new Inquisitor could be my new Inquisitor's brother!' Because then something like this gets started.
> 
> It started with broodywolf and Emma-Trevelyan having Cullenmance Knight Enchanters; Alyx and Emma. Then, quinnlocke joins in on the fun and Iris is born. Then Emma-Trevelyan had to go and make a Dorianmance Inquisitor and... our natural creativity fed into each other's. Now we are in too deep; there is no turning back. 
> 
> We sincerely hope you enjoy the fruits of many hours of head canons, but what ifs, and late, late (LATE) night chats.
> 
> We update on Wednesdays  
> TEMPORARY HIATUS


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